


A Gentleman’s Agreement

by nobodymove



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Gloucester Tact, Gloucester Typical Awkwardness, Lies and Deceit, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22422244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobodymove/pseuds/nobodymove
Summary: Lorenz Gloucester has long accepted that his lot in life has never afforded him the luxury of choice. Beholden to political duty, and the delicate balancing act necessary to keep Adrestian aggression from Alliance borders, he and Claude have been navigating both sides of the conflict between the Kingdom and the Empire in an attempt to keep Fódlan from a war that would consume the continent, while Lorenz keeps his affection for Duke Riegan well in hand.When chance brings a former classmate to County Gloucester, he and Lorenz can’t help but commiserate.
Relationships: Background Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Offscreen Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 120





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for psychological manipulation by a parent, canon typical violence, canon typical abusive parenting
> 
> Please be aware that the pairing endgame is not Sylvain/Lorenz
> 
> The B Supports with Benefits fic no one asked for 
> 
> Golden Gryphon AU
> 
> For Prompt & Ruse

_Prologue_

Hubert watched the children playing from across the courtyard from where he sat on the low branch of a gnarled old oak, working through notes on his most recent foray in cryptography. He’d helped Lady Edelgard and the crown prince into, and subsequently out of, these very branches only a few hours earlier in an attempt to avoid the inevitable scolding of the lady of the house. He’d both hated and enjoyed this summer; he’d had a close call at the Adrestian border, and Faerghus meant that he and his ladyship were safe for the time being, but their exile made him uneasy and, though he was loath to admit it, he didn’t much care for the prince. Or that his preoccupation with Edelgard meant that she spent considerably less time with Hubert. Now that the Duke and the Margrave were here for a few weeks with the Galatea Crestbearer as their guest, Edelgard was not short on young playmates. Still, seeing her highness with a smile on her face was more than worth his own worry or annoyance.

“Hubert, isn’t it?” a young man asked as Hubert jumped, hastily catching himself on a branch and snapping his notebook closed, launching the pen he’d been using to the ground.

His unexpected companion laughed, sheepish, and retrieved it for Hubert. “Glenn. Of House Fraldarius. I’m sorry to have startled you,” he said, capping the nib and extending it to Hubert, eyebrows raised in gentle amusement.

Hubert took it and tucked it between the pages, only slightly embarrassed.

“You can’t be more than 14,” he continued, gesturing to the group gathered around Lady Edelgard, “I don’t think they’ll mind if you play with them, you know,” Glenn said, looking him over curiously.

“I’m 15,” he replied, as dry as he could muster.

“And Sylvain is 14, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from his behavior,” Glenn continued, nudging him with a shoulder. In the distance, Sylvain flubbed the landing on a cartwheel, tipping over to land in an ungraceful heap at the feet of one tremendously unimpressed Felix Fraldarius.

Hubert held his book to himself, defensive. “It isn’t my place. And…”

“And…?”

“ _And_ it was made perfectly clear that a dour, unpleasant, skulking _wraith_ was… unwelcome.”

Glenn winced. “Which of the little bastards told you that?”

“The dark haired one.”

Glenn sighed, rolling his eyes. “The one _I’m_ responsible for, of course. Grand. I apologize on behalf of my little brother. He doesn’t particularly like when big brother or the crown prince aren’t paying exclusive attention to him. Take heart that the princess must be making him sick with envy. He’s not allowed to be a rude little shit to _her_.”

Hubert smiled, ever so slightly. “That does bring some comfort.”

Glenn laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “I thought it might.”

“In the end, my feelings are of no great consequence. It has been some time since I have seen Lady Edelgard this happy. As long as I can keep an eye on her highness, I’m perfectly content over here.”

“I am… sorry. I’d heard about Gertrud, Wilhelm and Lieselotte. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. What you _both_ must be going through.”

Hubert examined the beehive in a hollow of the tree, watching a cluster of worker bees repair the damage a storm had made the day before. “Three in six months. When we lost Otto and Margarethe two years ago… she’d only just started to come out of her grief. It’s more than anyone should have to bear. And with the unrest in the Empire… I am not so brave that I don’t fear for her future.”

“Courage without fear is the mark of either lunacy or great stupidity,” Glenn said, mouth quirking up at the corner. “Courage that allows for cowardice and plans accordingly makes for a much longer life. Though perhaps a bit less interesting.”

Hubert seemed to take that into consideration.

“Now come, my brother needs to be soundly punished and you need to be occupied, so why not hit two birds with one stone and train with me? I’m a better swordsman but I’m no slouch with magic, and something tells me that you’re a natural.”

Hubert took a long look at Lady Edelgard, laughing from atop Prince Dimitri’s shoulders, and jumped from the tree in acquiescence.

—-

Glenn startled, setting his whetstone aside as Hubert stole into the weapons room and closed the door, pressing himself against it.

“Hubert, what’s the matter-”

“Are we alone, Glenn?” he asked, eyes darting around the room.

“Provided you don’t count the suits of armor. Goddess, are you alright?”

“There’s no time. Lady Edelgard’s uncle moves to take her back to the Empire as we speak,” he said, pacing.

Glenn rose to his feet. “Is that wise?”

Hubert looked at him, then to the window where Lord Arundel’s men were already packing Lady Edelgard’s coach, and seemed to come to a decision. “I do not trust Lord Arundel. Not with Lady Edelgard. Certainly not with her new little friends, especially the crown prince. I suspect that her uncle is somehow… involved with the fate of Lady Edelgard’s brothers and sisters. I do not know what awaits us in Enbarr.”

Glenn put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I have no qualms about keeping Lord Arundel here if that is truly what you believe.”

Hubert stared at him in incredulity. “Arundel is of the royal line, with title and influence besides. I’m an interior minister’s son, and not one who holds favor with anyone but her highness. What’s more, Arundel is a far more powerful mage than anyone in Fhirdiad. Including myself. I’ve seen the power he wields when he thinks he is alone, and I could not risk the futures of two kingdoms over the klaxons of my intuition, no matter how well it has served me in the past.”

“Then how do we proceed?” Glenn huffed, frustrated. “Forgive me if I’m unused to problems I can’t solve at the point of a rapier.”

Hubert handed him his notebook. “This is a personal cipher I’ve been working on. I think it would be wise for us to correspond. Nothing _treasonous,”_ he amended at the look of apprehension on Glenn’s face. “But should you hear any news concerning the princess, or Arundel, or any _peculiar_ goings-on in Fódlan, let me know.” 

Glenn nodded in understanding, slipping the book into an interior pocket.

Hubert handed Glenn a letter.

“What’s this?”

“A note from Lady Edelgard to Prince Dimitri. She was more than disheartened to hear of her abrupt departure, and I know she considers him a friend. If we are to be corresponding, I think it would do them both some good to continue to write to one another. Children in their position… it can be… lonely,” he finished, looking Glenn in the eyes from under a dark fringe of hair.

Hubert nodded, turning to leave, only for Glenn to grasp his forearm to forestall him. “...I’m going to miss you a great deal, von Vestra.”

“I am going to miss the company of the only person in Faerghus who has any common sense,” Hubert returned, squeezing Glenn’s arm in return.

Hubert froze as was pulled into an embrace. “You did promise to write,” Glenn muttered, patting him about the shoulders.

“I will,” Hubert replied, relaxing a fraction.

“You’d better.”

  
  
  


1

Lorenz saw him first, and as if sensing the scrutiny, Claude von Riegan met his gaze from across the crowded ballroom.

His father had insisted on throwing this fête in Gloucester territory, continued celebrations for the fortuitous discovery of a legitimate von Reigan heir after Godfrey’s untimely loss, years ago. The evening was rather lively, contrary to the black mood that had been hanging over Count Gloucester for months, to the great alarm of the household staff and Lorenz himself. Navigating the Count’s moods was something of a talent of Lorenz’ at this point, and his father’s erratic behavior had the whole house on tenterhooks. The Count was a gregarious host this evening, but one did not accrue the kind of influence his father possessed in the Leicester Alliance from poor acting, dull parties and bad manners.

Lorenz had been presented with an early birthday gift for the occasion, a splendid new suit in lavender with delicate rose embroidery at the sleeves and shoulders. His tailor had been on a tear of late, letting out hems and seams and cleverly adding ruffles and panels in an attempt to keep up with his growth spurt. At 16 he was closing in on six feet, with few signs of slowing. He had a stack of broken teacups from underestimating his reach, and rather hoped that he would fill out as successfully as he was gaining altitude. At the third fitting for his suit in as many months, his father had called him a stork in an opera house, and Lorenz rather felt it.

As quickly as they had locked eyes, the players in the room moved and von Riegan was lost to the crowd. 

His father had requested a demonstration of the magic he’d learned at the Academy in Faerghus nearly a year ago, as much a display of Crest power for potential marriage partners as it was entertainment, and Lorenz had prepared accordingly, though nothing too ostentatious. His father had been entertaining betrothal agreements from other members of the Alliance since Lorenz was in christening clothes, but his favor was notoriously difficult to keep once earned, and so Lorenz was, at the moment, unattached. Now that he was older and so much more went into proper matchmaking, his bachelor status made him uneasy. He strode into the adjoining room at the Count’s behest, discreetly wiping the sweat from his palms, tamping down on his nerves as he channeled Crest magic into his hands.

Still, there was something about those green eyes that Lorenz couldn’t shake.

—-

His father had been fulminating for the duration of their shared private meal, and Lorenz did his best to hold his cutlery in a way that belied the shaking in his hands. By his third glass of red, the Count was in fine form; having the newly minted Reigan heir as their guest seemed only to add fuel to his usual litany of insults, and when his father ran out of cutting remarks for the heir of House Riegan, focusing primarily on the boy’s _questionable_ parentage as Lorenz burned with shame, they turned toward Count Gloucester’s favored object of scorn; Lorenz himself. Lorenz, effeminate, ugly, awkward, untalented Lorenz. Who would look at someone like him without recoiling? That the heir to House Gloucester should bear only a minor crest was a credit to his mother’s many inadequacies, and his father, in a drawl that fell somewhere between disdain and boredom, so practiced were they in this particular exchange, had no compunctions about outlining each and every flaw, at length.

Lorenz riveted himself together with what remained of his dignity and good sense; after all the Count was looking for defiance, and once he had it, he would slowly apportion his punishment out over months. Lorenz’ maids would be replaced, his tutors rotated out, horses sold, possessions broken or missing. His schedule would change abruptly, or he would be sent to the summer cottage or winter chalet with barebones staff and no visitors. His father never raised a hand to him, not once, but the Count had no need for base displays of strength when he could humiliate Lorenz at any moment, in any way he so chose. His game was control, as Lorenz was well aware. Better to appear a dimwitted sycophant than a threat.

Once he had borne a suitable amount of his father’s contempt, he retreated to the garden. It was certainly his favorite place on the estate, a passing fancy that Lady Gloucester had poured significant effort into before invariably becoming bored & flitting to another pet project. He had heard in passing that his mother’s estate had tremendous gardens now, and a tremendous gardener besides, but he hadn’t been permitted to visit when she’d quit this house, & had only made the mistake in asking once, years ago. She was, at least, constant in their correspondence, though he had no doubt that the wax on her letters was sealed twice; once by her hand, & a second time by his father upon review.

His favorite place in the garden was under a dense copse of Gloucester roses. There was a small bench hidden beneath the thicket he could lie on & watch the sky through intertwining thorns, and more often than not he would come here to read, or daydream, or, if the need was great enough, cry. The inattentiveness of the groundskeeper would usually irritate him, but he found solace in the only place on the estate he could achieve even a moment of privacy. Which was why the voices of the young Reigan heir & his retainer startled him so.

“Our suspicions about Count Gloucester’s involvement are more than founded, Nardel,” the boy mused in his blithe manner, lackadaisically twirling an arrow in his hands.

Lorenz craned his neck to get a closer look, for once uncowed by the watchful eyes of his father. Von Riegan was certainly even more handsome up close; Lorenz could feel heat creeping up under his collar as he noted just how long his dark eyelashes were.

Nardel tossed an apple from palm to palm. “But not substantiated enough to be useful to us. He’s a complete ass, sure, but shrewd. Not exactly the type to implicate himself by dirtying his own hands.”

Lorenz tamped down his delight at the slight, moving silently through the thicket to catch the rest of the conversation.

“But a prig and an utter shit besides. Pretty easy to rile up & even easier to read when he’s angry,” von Riegan said, clearly pleased with himself.

“You ought to be more careful, Claude,” Nardel advised, though the twinkle in his eye undermined his admonishment.

Von Riegan waved off his concern.

“I’m certainly not going to count House Gloucester among my allies. The Count’s a viper, just as Judith said.”

“And the heir?”

Claude grinned, putting his hands behind his head, stretching. “He’s _pretty_.”

Lorenz pressed his hands tightly over his mouth to conceal his gasp, straining to hear over the pounding of his heart in his chest.

“Or he will be, once he gets his nanny to stop dressing him. If he grows into those cheekbones, he might even give me a run for my money. They’re a little devastating,” von Riegan finished with a chuckle.

Nardel huffed a soft laugh. “But the ego on that kid-”

“He’s overcompensating. You saw them interact. I’d say he’s terrified of the Count, no matter how good he is at hiding it. Not surprising, given what _Countess_ Gloucester apparently has to say on the subject. I think it’s his intention to be underestimated.”

“That makes him dangerous.”

Von Riegan laughed. “That makes him _interesting_. And means that House Gloucester isn’t out of play, not yet anyway. A few years of bathing in that resentment? I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of boy he turns into, once we’re schoolmates.”

“I suppose he’s got potential, as Crestbearers go.”

“You don’t know the half of it. He was pulling his punches during that little reason demonstration. A contact at the Academy said that what he lacks in natural skill he makes up for by being the hardest worker in the room. Slower to pick things up but diligent. And Minor Crest or not, I don’t think the Count knows how _powerful_ he is. If he did... I don’t know that he’d be so eager to hone his son’s abilities at a place like Garreg Mach, when it’s so far outside his influence.”

Nardel eyed von Riegan approvingly. “He’s not the only one who knows when to conceal his talent,” he said, tossing the apple he’d been holding high in the air.

Quicker than Lorenz could catch, von Riegan had a bow in his hands & had loosed an arrow into the heart of the apple, pinning it to a tree across the courtyard.

Lorenz lost whatever else the von Riegan heir had to say to his retainer to the overwhelming fluttering of his own heart.

  
  
  


2

“You’re _avoiding_ me,” Claude said, standing in the jamb of Lorenz’ doorway in the dormitory, arms crossed.

“I thought I’d _locked_ that,” Lorenz replied, tetchy, turning back to where he’d laid out a proper tea service for one, a much needed break from his studies and the impending pressure of this month’s mission.

“You did,” Claude returned, in that _way_ he had that would be unbearably smug on anyone else, walking into the room uninvited and closing the door behind him, dropping the screws from the door on his desk.

Claude waited. Lorenz sipped his tea.

Claude broke first, sitting on Lorenz’ bed in a half sprawl. “I’m sorry for… _whatever_ I did at the Garreg Mach ball. I very obviously hurt your feelings.”

“You don’t _remember,”_ Lorenz said, abruptly setting his teacup down to stare at Claude, expression no more readable but undeniably _upset_.

“I remember dancing with Teach and uh. Nicking Shamir’s Dagdan hooch. Lying on the bench under the Goddess Tower. The rest of the night’s kind of a blur. You’ll be chuffed to know it’s easily the nastiest hangover I’ve ever had, I imagine. Lysithea said-”

“ _Lysithea_ should learn to mind her own-”

“She _said,_ ” Claude continued, talking over him, “that you were the one who uh. Took care of me. Which, you know, _thanks_ I guess, but I’d love to know what I did that warranted _weeks_ of you diving behind bookshelves and rearranging your training schedule and sitting in Leonie’s chair in class-”

“Our seats are _not_ assigned-”

“ _Bull_. _Shit_. You’ve been sitting behind me since _last year-”_

“Perhaps I simply wanted a change of pace-”

“ _Perhaps I simply wanted a change of pace,_ ” Claude interrupted in a smooth mimicry of his voice, mocking him. “Could you just _tell me_ what I did so I can figure out how to be sorry about it?!”

Lorenz squinted at him, evaluating, before crossing his legs and then crossing his arms as though he somehow needed the emphasis. “ _Please_. Why wouldn’t you lie about this like you lie about everything else? I’m sure you’ll go back to your room, tucking this incident away to laugh at later, like you have every other time you’ve gotten one over on me.”

Claude dug his fingers into his thighs, at his wit’s end. “...Is that _really_ how you think of me?”

Lorenz chanced a glance at him before directing their conversation to the wall behind his bed. “Is that _not_ how you think of me? Ridiculous. Irritating. Stuck up. A _thorn_ in your side, _har har._ ”

Claude closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then let it out slowly before opening them again. “Lorenz. I’ve been without your constant badgering for two weeks and I broke into your room to tell you _I miss it.”_

Lorenz, whose mouth was poised to interject at the soonest available opportunity, snapped it closed in surprise.

Claude stood. “Something changed between us recently. Before the ball. I can’t put my finger on what, but it was something _good_. I don’t want to ruin it over whatever stupid thing I did.”

Lorenz went from indignant to uncomfortably vulnerable as he worried at his lower lip. The silence stretched between them.

“...You vomited.”

“Yeah. Put that one together when I saw my dress uniform and heard Felix pounding away at Gautier’s door the next morning. Not… on you. I hope.”

“No… but you said some. Uncharitable things. About my family,” Lorenz continued, eyes flicking to the left.

A _lie,_ Claude noted. From paragon of virtue, foot-in-his-mouth _Lorenz_. Interesting.

Claude nodded. “I’m sorry about that. I know your _noble lineage_ is important to you-”

“If you can’t even _apologize_ sincerely-” Lorenz snapped, any window to his interior thoughts quickly shuttered.

Claude held up his hands. “You’re right, you’re right,” he said, as Lorenz calmed down, smoothing at the wrinkles in his trousers as his hackles visibly lowered. Claude would have to remember that Lorenz could be mollified simply by telling him he was _right_. “You know that I don’t exactly hold your father in high esteem, and I’m not going to apologize over _him_ , given our families’,” Claude gestured in the air, “ _history_. But I hurt you. We’re friends. I’m sorry for what I said, and I’ll act more honorably in the future, especially at public events when it’s more than just my own reputation on the line.”

“...We’re, I’m sorry, _we’re friends_?” Lorenz asked, flabbergasted.

“...Yes? Is that… were you under the impression-”

Claude was given one more of those inscrutable evaluating once-overs that were really beginning to grate on his nerves, before Lorenz seemed to come to a decision. Breaking eye contact, Lorenz set out a second cup on a saucer, pouring it full of fragrant tea, and slid it across the table in Claude’s general direction.

“Well? Don’t just stand there like a dullard,” Lorenz said, nodding at the cup.

Claude blinked, confused, and Lorenz, with a put-upon sigh, pulled over the extra chair from his desk.

Claude sat, a bit more heavily than he intended, and took a sip of the oversteeped, lukewarm beverage. “...Oh. It’s pine. I like this blend.”

Lorenz hummed, passing him the plate of lacy little sandwich biscuits, fussing over his setup to accommodate two. “I _know_. It’s Almyran.”

3

Claude walked through a maze of crates and loose barrels, jumping sprawling sacks of long grain rice and ducking under the wide swing of a woman hefting oak boards over her shoulder as his household staff at the von Riegan estate directed today’s deliveries.

“Ignatz!” he called, waving, shrugging around two men carrying a shipment of noa fruit as he caught up to his blonde friend and pulled him into a loose hug. “You brought me presents!”

Ignatz shook his head, arm around Claude’s shoulder. “The transactional nature of our friendship seems to have escaped you,” he said, laughing, and pressing an itemized list copied from his ledger into Claude’s shirt. “Here’s a helpful reminder.”

Claude grinned, unrolling the manifest and scanning its contents.

“No cabbages?”

Ignatz shook his head. “Major crop failure in Faerghus, no merchant from here to Fhirdiad has any to spare. With the Empire starting to increase patrols looking for contraband...”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Leave it to our southern neighbors to be threatened by a vegetable. Everything else seems to be in order?”

“I’m charging you double for the plums. You have no idea the kind of backflips I had to do at the bridge to get them from Morfis without spoiling.”

“A commendable effort as always, Ignatz,” Claude said, tucking his receipt into an inside pocket. “Now… did you bring me anything fun?”

Ignatz rolled his eyes, reaching into his satchel, removing a beautifully embroidered pouch and tucking it into Claude’s breast pocket. “Dagda’s Finest, direct from the source. She said to make it last, they’ll be moving north and there’s no telling when she’ll have a moment to… er, procure more.”

Claude grinned, patting his pocket. “Noted. Send my warmest regards to Shamir the next time you see her. Anything else I should know before I let you get back to organizing your chaos, Victor?”

Ignatz squeezed his shoulder. “One last thing. One of the merchants from Ordelia wanted to talk to you. Something about renegotiating rates. I told him to wait in your study.”

Claude nodded. “Good man, Ignatz. Check in with Nardel before you leave, he’ll square away my accounts. And hey, look me up before you leave town again, we should get a drink!”

Ignatz was already back in his ledger, checking off tasks, smiling as he walked back to the other merchants conducting business with Claude’s staff. “I’ll hold you to it, Duke Riegan.”

Claude took the back stairs to his study, checking the stairwells and adjacent rooms for eavesdroppers, before entering the room and locking the door behind him.

A familiar silhouette waited just out of sight of the window.

Dedue gripped his forearm in a one handed greeting, and Claude used the momentum to pull him into a hug. “I’m losing count of the debts I owe Lysithea,” Claude muttered, slapping him on the back in relief.

Dedue grunted in agreement, sinking into the plush couch while Claude took the armchair across from him. “We are of a mind on that.”

“Tell me what you can. How is- how’s your, um. How’s our _mutual friend?_ ”

Dedue looked contemplative. “I don’t know how to answer. Himself, some days. Or silent for days on end. Sometimes he carries on conversations with people who aren’t there. You, once or twice, but mostly his old house. Or. ...With the dead.”

Claude shook his head. “Is he… has he been violent?” he asked, not sure if he wanted an answer.

Dedue paused. “It can be... directed. The few of us in his orbit, he recognizes. He’s never laid a hand on us, but I try not to let the others get too close. He has… fits. Sometimes. When he sleeps, which is infrequent enough, his nightmares can make him lash out. Physically, he’s still… very strong.”

Claude looked him over, before taking the lunch laid out for him on the desk and shoving the tray into Dedue’s arms. “How are _you,_ Dedue?”

“Alive,” he said, look of wry amusement twisting his lips before he carefully balanced the tray on a knee and began digging in. “Which is enough.”

Claude huffed. “One day you’ll have a better answer for me,” he said as he flopped back into his seat.

“And you for me, I imagine,” Dedue replied, taking a bite of pastry as the savory filling dripped out an end.

Claude gave him time to eat, watching light reflect off the thin line of water that marked Derdriu in the far distance.

“All of this seemed so much more possible when Teach…” he shook his head, abandoning that line of thought. “Have you heard from Faerghus?”

Dedue wiped his mouth with a napkin before setting it aside. “Fhirdiad remains under Cornelia’s influence. From what we can gather… things are dire. Lord Rodrigue and Margrave Gautier have been taking in refugees from the territories under her control as discreetly as possible, but with winter approaching…”

Claude clasped his hands, setting them under his chin. “I’ll talk to Ignatz. If Derdriu can send supplies by sea through the north before the ice sets in… Leonie and Raphael can take smaller, more discrete caravans. Von Edmund might be able to manage establishing a route as long as her father can be kept in the dark. The wyverns are a little obvious, but if we’re talking bullions or medicine,” he waved a hand, clearly thinking out loud. “I’ll move some things around, rope Gloucester into opening those purple pursestrings.”

“The Count?” Dedue asked, surprised. “Lysithea said he’s in the pocket of the Empire.”

Claude smiled. “The Count, yes. His son, not so much. Lorenz is a meticulous bookkeeper. A quality I used to find supremely annoying, before it turned out to be a godsend.”

Dedue nodded. “Thank you. For the consideration.”

Claude snorted. “The bare minimum in human decency does feel like something to be grateful for these days, doesn’t it? ...Anything from the Emperor?”

Dedue crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Edelgard plays the most dangerous role of all of us. If Ashe had been a moment later with Hubert’s warning, and Lysithea hadn’t come to our aid in Fhirdiad… I hesitate to think what might have come of his H- ...our friend.”

“It… doesn’t bear thinking about,” Claude replied with a shiver, scratching the back of his neck. “And as far as the public is concerned, the Blaiddyd line has ended. Rhea?”

“Edelgard holds her in Enbarr. She has no great love for the church,” Dedue said, smiling slightly, “a trait the three of us have in common, I suppose. But Rhea is safe where she is, for now. The Emperor will do everything in her power to mitigate what harm she can from within the viper’s nest, but until we find the truth of who or _what_ we are up against… the war will continue.”

“And it’s only a matter of time before the Empire tires of the Kingdom and sets its sights on the Alliance.”

“The kind of _power_ , the kind of raw dark magic our enemies are capable of… I am certain it’s already established itself here.”

“Ever the optimist, Dedue” Claude said, pouring two glasses of wine. He took a small stoppered necklace, adding a few drops of clear liquid into his glass, and swirled it before taking a sip.

Dedue lifted his glass toward Claude. “You know me. A ray of sunshine.”

Claude laughed outright. “Alright. What can I do for our friend while you’re in town?”

  
  
  


4

It had been a _miserable_ scouting mission based on a false lead that had ended in a bloodbath, capped off by four days of riding in absolutely _pissing_ rain, and Sylvain had exactly one thing on his mind as he flagged down the bartender for two more, pushing the extra pint across the bar.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, as the woman sitting next to him took notice, brushing a tight brown curl behind her ear, long gold earrings glinting with warm light from the merry fire in the hearth nearby. “It would be criminal if someone as gorgeous as you was here on your own. I felt compelled to buy you a drink,” he finished with a wink, nodding at the glass.

She put a hand on her purse, leaning away from him slightly, before pulling the drink toward her. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Sylvain,” he said with an easy smile, “I’d love to keep you company for the evening,” he continued, leaning in.

“Well, I’m not exactly in the market for a sell sword,” she said picking up her drink as she inched off the barstool, laughing nervously.

“I’m not a merc,” Sylvain continued, “but for someone as beautiful as you, I’d offer my services free of charge.”

Her face twisted in a grimace somewhere between confusion and disgust. She elbowed the patron next to her in her haste to escape, knocking over his glass and sending suds across the surface of the bar top.

Sylvain waved his hands, wide eyed. “No, _shit_ , that came out wrong-”

“Gautier. If you could do everyone a favor and stop _harassing_ this poor woman and embarrassing yourself, it would truly be appreciated,” Lorenz Hellman Gloucester hissed over his shoulder, catching her in a spray of excess beer as he shook out his wet shirt sleeve in disgust.

“Fuck all the way off,” she told them both with conviction, taking her pint glass and joining the raucous group of locals at billiards far across the room.

Sylvain took a deep breath, closing his eyes, as he turned toward his unwelcome drinking companion. “Sothis above, _why_ did it have to be _you_.”

Lorenz caught the towel the bartender tossed in his direction, sopping up the spill with obvious distaste. “Do pardon me, I could have left you to become an Adrestian pincushion, if I had known that was your preference.”

“I had it handled,” Sylvain grunted.

“You were handling it in County Gloucester, expressly against the wishes of the Count-”

“Ooh, you gonna tell on me?” Sylvain snorted over the rim of his glass, taking a long drink of beer in an attempt to drown out Lorenz’ complaints. He’d had more than enough in the hours it had taken them to ride from the southern border of Gloucester territory before Lorenz had insisted they stop for the night.

“So good to see that the years haven’t changed you, _Gautier-”_

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean,” Sylvain said, setting his empty pint on the bar with a thud.

Lorenz narrowed his eyes, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “You’re still an insufferable, ignoble _cur._ ”

Sylvain laughed under his breath. “And you’re still a spineless coward hiding behind priggish ideals because the mere _notion_ of upsetting your father makes you _quiver_ in fear.”

Lorenz’ eyes went wide in indignation. “ _You-”_

“Daddy Gloucester doesn’t love you, _Lorenz_ ,” Sylvain sneered into his face.

“I-” Lorenz sputtered weakly, cheeks dusting a light pink, his gaze just barely flickering to Sylvain’s lips as his breathing picked up.

Sylvain took notice, his expression lighting up with barely restrained glee as realization twisted his mouth into a teasing smile. “Oh _Lorenz_ ,” he murmured, snagging him by the loose front of his shirt and pulling him closer. “I didn’t know you were _that_ kind of boy.”

Lorenz gripped his wrist, furious expression undercut by his darkening blush and a telltale hitch of breath. “How dare- Cease this, Gautier! You’re so-”

Sylvain leaned in, putting a finger under Lorenz’ chin to tilt his head up, effectively shutting him up in the process. “You ruined my chances at pleasurable companionship for the evening,” he said, twisting his wrist out of Lorenz’ grip and boldly laying a hand on Lorenz’ thigh. “The _noble_ thing to do would be to make it up to me.”

Lorenz swallowed thickly, breathing through his parted lips as his eyes seemed to momentarily lose focus, almost as if he was entertaining the proposition. “...It would seem that Flayn clearly had the measure of your character,” he muttered, managing to hold together enough of his natural indignation to sound disdainful while he absently licked his lower lip, watching Sylvain from under long violet lashes.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “That depends, to which _measure of my character_ are you referring,” he replied, letting his hand slide ever so slowly up Lorenz’ thigh, leaning in close enough that he could feel Lorenz’ breath against his lips.

“That men and women alike… have been seduced by your nefarious ways,” Lorenz murmured softly, looking him in the eyes, questioning.

Sylvain grinned, tonguing at a canine, before he reached into his purse and dropped coin generous enough to cover their tabs on the counter. “Why don’t you follow me and find out for yourself?”

—-

Lorenz’ back hit the door with a dull thud, the force slamming it closed as Sylvain shoved him against it, throwing the bolt and tossing the key in the general vicinity of a side table while maintaining their filthy kiss. They’d barely made it to the room, Sylvain manhandling him into an alcove on the first floor and again outside the lone washroom on the second, until one of the doors in the hallway opened, startling them, and they’d retreated to Lorenz’ single at the top of the public house.

_Of course_ you rented the nicest room,” Sylvain had laughed, nipping at the lower lip he was thoroughly enjoying abusing.

“Do shut up,” Lorenz hissed, gently tugging at the fistful of red hair he’d been running his fingers through in admonishment.

Lorenz’ hands scrabbled over the buckles on Sylvain’s plate mail, long fingers fumbling with the leather straps to work them loose. Sylvain had the easier job as he viciously opened the lacing on Lorenz’ shirt, pulling the embellished collar down and open to expose his clavicles and chest. Palming Lorenz’ ass, he buried his face in his chest and neck, sucking open mouthed bruises into whatever bare skin he could reach. Lorenz smelled like lavender soap, and distantly like that rose perfume that used to hang around him in a cloud when they were students. While Sylvain had made a beeline for the bar, apparently Lorenz had taken the opportunity to bathe, though clearly not to his usual standards.

Sylvain hooked a finger into his shirt, tugging it aside to show off Lorenz’ perky little tit, and he grinned at Lorenz with clear intent before setting upon it with lips and teeth. Sylvain could feel the pull in the roots of his hair as Lorenz’ head fell back against the door in an open mouthed gasp. 

Sylvan pulled away, his mouth wet & open, contemplating Lorenz with a playful expression that bordered on predatory. 

“You have done this before, haven’t you?” he asked, flicking him in the sternum, teasing.

Lorenz briefly thought back to the last summer he’d spent at the Gloucester estate before the Professor had arrived at Garreg Mach. They’d hired a stablehand, Alexandre, as the head groom transitioned into retirement, a few months older than Lorenz, with dark curls & heavenly amber eyes. Lorenz had found himself enraptured by a flirtation which quickly escalated to an encounter in the hayloft far to the back of the estate. Embarrassed by his inexperience and eager to prove himself, he’d allowed the older boy to finish in his mouth.

He remembered the way the hay felt under him as Alexandre did up the fastenings on his trousers, laughing. He tilted Lorenz’ face up, thumbing roughly along his lower lip. They’d never even kissed before.

“You’re so hard up, you’ll let anyone do anything they want to you, won’t you,” he said, clearly mocking. “What would they say, if they knew that this is what you are.” His eyes had flickered in the direction of the main house, and he’d pressed his boot between Lorenz’ shaking thighs until he’d gasped, eyes welling with tears. Having proven his point, he left Lorenz there, on his knees, wanting.

He’d burned with shame, Alexandre long gone, as he’d shoved one of his gloves into his mouth & brought himself to completion.

When Lorenz went to tack his horse after avoiding the stables for nearly two weeks, stomach churning, it was to discover a dismissive new stablehand and Alexandre gone as though he’d never existed.

“Of course I have,” he lied condescendingly. 

Sylvain pressed a knee between his legs, whispering in his ear. “A few fumbles here and there with some titled fuck Daddy picked out for you? Or do you do such lascivious things for anyone with a Crest?”

Lorenz _whimpered_ , and Sylvain felt Lorenz’ dick twitch with no small satisfaction. He pressed Lorenz into the door until the Gloucester heir was all but riding his thigh, sinking his teeth into Lorenz’ neck, just below his ear. The full body shiver he received from his unexpected bedmate was well worth the effort.

“How _dare_ you m-make such insinuations,” Lorenz stuttered out, with as much of a glare as he could manage.

“Don’t be _coy_ , Gloucester,” Sylvain murmured, drawing Lorenz into another kiss, “you _like_ it when I’m mean to you.” He palmed Lorenz over his trousers to punctuate his point, and Lorenz _squirmed_ , eyes shut tight.

Sylvain backed off abruptly, leaving Lorenz to slump against the door, breathing heavily. He made short work of his own vambraces and pauldrons, leaning them against a chair and unclipping his breastplate, resting it on the seat. Stretching his shoulders, the misery of the day made itself known with a deep ache in Sylvain’s shoulders, before he pulled his rain-damp shirt and undershirt over his head and hung them over the stiles. Lorenz was exactly as Sylvain had left him, flushed, watching.

Sylvain took him by the wrists and pulled him toward the bed, sitting down and settling Lorenz between his thighs. “Undress, Gloucester. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Lorenz looked off the the side. “Wouldn’t you prefer to do this in the dark, Gautier?”

Sylvain put both hands on the back of Lorenz’ thighs, running his fingers along the creases just under the swell of his ass. “And risk missing all the pretty faces I’m about to make you make? You must have gotten hit harder than I thought.”

Lorenz frowned down at him, but the blush creeping down his chest was telling enough.

“...Very well.”

“Thanks ever so much for being so very obliging,” Sylvain teased, leaning back on his hands.

Lorenz rolled his eyes, unbuckling the belt of his high waisted pants and dropping it to the floor. “Are you _naturally_ this obnoxious or do you save this charming facet of your personality specifically for me?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head and thumbing open the buttons on his trousers.

Sylvain sat up as Lorenz moved to slip out of his pants, catching his hands and holding them away from his body. “It’s _all_ natural. ...Give me a minute,” he said, clearly ogling.

“Is that _really_ necessary-” Lorenz sputtered, surprised, as Sylvain settled his hands around Lorenz’ waist.

Sylvain grinned up at him through a tousled fall of red hair, hooking fingers into Lorenz’ waistband and tugging it to the tops of his thighs. “Come on _Gloucester_ ,” he purred, spitting into his hand and slipping it into Lorenz’ underclothes. “You _have_ to know what you look like.”

The bite of Lorenz’ response at the slight and the sheer _vulgarity_ was curtailed by the moue of his mouth once Sylvain got a hand on his cock, pulling him out, stroking with intent. Lorenz pitched forward, steadying himself on those broad shoulders, attempting to quiet himself as he desperately sought _any_ footing in what Sylvain had made quite clear was his domain. Straddling thickly muscled thighs, Lorenz devoured that infuriating _mouth_ , taking the opportunity to feel up every bare inch of Sylvain’s chest he could reach.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you had _this_ in you, Gloucester,” Sylvain teased, biting at the corner of his lips, eyes half lidded.

“You’re woefully uninformed as to what I’m capable of, Gautier,” Lorenz returned, haughty, pressing a last kiss to his mouth as he slowly parted Sylvain’s thighs and sank to his knees between them.

Sylvain adjusted himself, moving forward to sit on the edge of the mattress, close enough that he could feel Lorenz’ warm breath on his thighs. He ran a hand through those violet tresses, Lorenz’ eyes fluttering closed as Sylvain smoothed out the tangles he’d put there himself. Taking Lorenz by the chin and tilting his head back, he gently pressed a greave between Lorenz’ thighs.

“A-ah! Oh. Oh. Gautier, _please_.”

Sylvain gave a soft hmm of amusement, pressing harder, Lorenz answering him with light, poorly restrained little ruts against his calf.

“S-slow down,” he whined. “I’m- I-” he bit his lip, somewhere between pleasure and distress.

“Oh no no no,” Sylvain chastised, shoving the plackets on his slacks aside, taking his dick in hand. “We’re not done yet.”

Sylvain gave himself a few cursory strokes to take the edge off, precum beading at the tip. Lorenz watched him, rapt, and Sylvain gloried in the attention. Fist around the base of his shaft, Sylvain slid a hand back through that impossibly silky hair, gripping him by the roots to better manipulate his position. Lorenz’ mouth opened wide as Sylvain tilted his head back, and he was close enough now to feel gently panted breaths against the head. Tugging Lorenz’ hair earned him a soft noise, pupils blown wide, before Sylvain traced his dick around Lorenz’ mouth, smearing sticky fluid over kiss-bitten lips. Lorenz moved closer, hair taut in Sylvain’s grip, tracing his pointed tongue along the corona & over his frenulum, making eye contact with Sylvain before licking a line up and tonguing at the slit. 

Sylvain shivered. As he pulled away, a viscous strand momentarily connected his dick and Lorenz’ lips before snapping. “Fuck,” he breathed out with a shaky laugh, hips thrusting imperceptibly. This would require more willpower than he’d anticipated.

He stroked himself again once, slowly, and pushed the tip of his glans along Lorenz’ cheek leaving another wet line, grinning. Guiding himself with the tight circle of his thumb and forefinger, he gently slapped his cock against Lorenz’ face a few times, watching in rapt fascination as his breathing picked up & his nipples peaked. 

“What do you want me to do, Lorenz?” he asked.

Lorenz slid his mouth along the shaft, sloppy, closing an eye as Sylvain’s dick moved along his fine features. Lorenz moved lower, pressing his open mouth to Sylvain’s sac, before reaching into his pants and knuckling against Sylvain’s perineum. He breathed in, getting off on the scent, and Sylvain could feel those violet eyelashes fluttering against his cock. Lorenz looked up at him again.

“Make a mess of me, Gautier.”

“...Fuck,” Sylvain muttered, biting his lower lip, eyes rolling backward as he gripped himself, breathing in through his nose.

Lorenz took that opportunity to take Sylvain into his mouth.

“Fuck! Fuck, ah,” he hissed, cupping the back of Lorenz’ head as Lorenz dug his hands into Sylvain’s thighs and _sucked_.

Except.

Sylvain opened an eye, tugging lightly on a loose strand of hair. “Um. Lorenz.”

Lorenz glared up at him, pulling off. “What-” he gently cleared his throat, “what?”

Sylvain smiled, running his thumb along Lorenz’ cheek. “There’s like. Kind of a technique to it, you know?”

Lorenz frowned. “Are you _critiquing_ me? _Now_?”

“No no no. No. Um. Just uh. _Look_ , do you want tips or not?”

Lorenz stared at him, incredulous, but then his blush was back in full force as he looked away. “I. _Fine_. Since you’re apparently the expert here-”

Sylvain laughed. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a slut before-”

“No! I didn’t mean to imply, I simply. I’m not. Well versed. In this. _Particular_ act. I would… appreciate the advice.”

Sylvain let out a little huff of laughter. It had been long enough since they’d been at Garreg Mach together, he’d forgotten how... ernest Lorenz could be. Exasperating personality aside, he’d had a certain amount of fondness for Lorenz at school, and the feeling settled over him again, at once new and nostalgic.

“Don’t try to take uh, more than you can handle with your mouth, at first. You can put your hands on me too. When you’re sucking, bob your head, and try to use your mouth at the same time? Like when you, uh. When you jerk o-, uh, touch yourself, you’re…” Sylvain waved a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “You’re trying to establish kind of a rhythm, right? And you want to relax more, go slow and breathe through your nose, and relax your throat, if you can? I’m not going to uh. Fit in just your mouth, so. I mean obviously I’m not going to just shove it in, gag reflexes are kind of a thing. Uh. But there’s other stuff we could- Well, what _I_ like is, I mean. The uh, head of my dick is sensitive so you can uh, it’s a good place to focus on. If you like. Get tired.” Sylvain put a hand over his face. “...Did any of that make sense?” 

Lorenz stared at him for a beat, and then laughed. “That was _incomprehensible_. But somehow, yes.”

“Great. Great, so if you uh. Still want- oh okay wow, you’re just going to-”

Lorenz held him by the base, taking his lips off the head with a wet pop. He raised an eyebrow, lips quirked in a small smile, amused. “Was there something else?”

“...You’re a fucking tease.”

Lorenz slid his mouth down slowly over Sylvain’s cock. “Mmmm hmmmm.”

Sylvain liked to draw things out, hedonist that he was, but once Lorenz got comfortable and familiarized himself with what Sylvain liked, he was as eager to master this as he was everything else. Lorenz made a _gorgeous_ picture, rubbing himself against Sylvain’s thigh as he blew him, and Sylvain found himself at the edge far sooner than he’d expected.

It was why Lorenz’ tense little gasp around his cock surprised him.

Lorenz pulled away, Sylvain’s thigh in a death grip as he shoved the back of his hand over his mouth to stifle himself, spilling over Sylvain’s greaves and sabatons.

Sylvain’s eyes widened. “Did you just-”

Lorenz, panting, rested his forehead on Sylvain’s knee. “Ah… haah? Hnnn. _Oh_.”

Sylvain let Lorenz catch his breath, leaning back on his hands.

“You know you’re gonna have to lick that clean, right?”

Lorenz’ eyes snapped open. “Wh-”

Sylvain cocked his head to the side. “Lick it up, Gloucester.”

Making eye contact, Lorenz slowly lowered himself to his hands and knees. Eye level with a stripe of cum, he leaned in, wrinkling his nose slightly in hesitation before he tongued at it, swallowing with a slight grimace.

“Oh _fuck me running._ I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ it.”

Lorenz glared at him, opening his mouth to run his lips over the cool metal of Sylvain’s greaves, licking up his spend as it slow-dripped down Sylvain’s armor. As he licked the last pearls of cum from Sylvain’s sabaton, he lay a kiss against the toe, before rising to his knees and looking at Sylvain expectantly.

Sylvain had his dick in his hand before he could string two words together, jerking himself off, before a hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“...Did you want me to?”

Lorenz stood, cupping Sylvain’s face and drawing him into a kiss. The urgency of earlier had been replaced by a lazy, playful confidence that slowly built the heat between them as Sylvain kissed the taste of Lorenz’ cum out of his mouth.

“Do you have slick?”

Lorenz fumbled for a drawer in the bedside table, handing him a round tin. They took the opportunity to strip, Sylvain far less careful with his armor this time as he watched Lorenz shuck off his pants out of the corner of his eye, muttering under his breath as one leg got caught in his shoe, struggling to remove it.

“Rose butter salve,” he read, kissing Lorenz’ chin as he gathered him back into his lap. “You’re a cliche.”

“You would think someone from the land of perpetual winter would have a vested interest in moisturizing,” he replied primly.

Sylvain snorted, twisting the tin open, scooping salve onto his fingers as Lorenz lay back against the bed. “How did you want to-”

Lorenz held one of his knees to his chest. “...Please.”

Fingering Lorenz open was less thorough than Sylvain would have liked, but he was at the limit of his patience. The sounds he managed to wring from him as those violet eyes watched him, Lorenz bent at the waist, splayed out across the pillows, hair tousled, watching Sylvain’s fingers slip inside him, stretching, did things to him. Slicking himself up, he slowly slid home into that hot, tight little fuckhole, eyes nearly crossing at the sensation.

Sylvain bit his lip, hard, willing himself to still. “Are you-”

“A moment,” Lorenz gritted out.

“I can pull out if-”

“Just. Shut up and give me some time to adjust. Please.”

Sylvain lay his hands and mouth anywhere he could reach in an attempt to calm Lorenz’ nerves, taking Lorenz’ cock in hand and stroking him to attention. Lorenz was sensitive almost everywhere, though Sylvain supposed he could relate; the result of a touch-starved noble upbringing.

“Move.”

“You sure?” Sylvain asked, running hands up and down Lorenz’ sides.

“Yes,” Lorenz pleaded, tugging at a red lock of hair. “ _Please_.”

Sylvain lay a kiss to his lips, adjusting their position to give himself enough leverage to thrust. “It’s easier if you’re on your hands and knees, if you want to-”

“I’d prefer to do this face to face, if it’s all the same to you,” Lorenz replied, hooking an ankle over Sylvain’s shoulder, reaching up to hold the nape of his neck.

Sylvain nodded. He started shallow, carefully watching Lorenz’ expression for discomfort. He could feel the sweat pooling on his lower back and at his temples. Lorenz made a soft sound in pleasure, shoving his knuckles into his mouth, and Sylvain relaxed slightly, redoubling his efforts.

“More?” he asked, taking Lorenz’ wrist and pinning it to the bed.

“Ah, ha, m-more.”

Sylvain nodded, shaking loose a few droplets of sweat, bracketing Lorenz in with his arms as Sylvain fucked into him, muscles in his ass and thighs clenching with the strain.

Lorenz’ breathing was _ragged,_ punctuated by deep moans and hiccoughed gasps now that he made no move to stifle them. 

“ _There! There, there, oh, there! Sylvain!”_ Lorenz shouted, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes, digging nails into Sylvain’s upper arms.

Sylvain took this as permission, hammering into Lorenz, unrestrained. With his last coherent thought, he reached between them, jerking Lorenz off as a courtesy. Back arched taut, Lorenz sobbed his release, painting his own chest with a weak dribble of cum.

Sylvain knew he wouldn’t last much longer, Lorenz tightening around him like a vice, thrusts sloppy as he chased orgasm. “Coming, _fuck,_ I’m-” he grunted, pulling out, getting a hand on himself as he shot his load over Lorenz’ chest and face.

Sylvain caught himself on his forearms, slumping over, out of breath. “S-sorry. About the. You know.”

Lorenz licked stray drips from the corner of his mouth. “You, hmmm, you could have. Come inside.”

Sylvain groaned, laughing with a little exhale, rolling off of him. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time, Gloucester.”

—-

Sylvain lay on his back, spent, calf hooked over Lorenz’ leg as Lorenz lay in the crook of his elbow. They were touching skin to skin at half a dozen other points, and Sylvain couldn’t remember a time he’d been this comfortable after a lay that fantastic.

He reached out, splaying a hand over Lorenz’ stomach, tracing nonsense shapes with his fingers. Lorenz jumped slightly at the contact before settling back into the afterglow, blinking stupidly at the ceiling. 

“So that was... unexpected,” Sylvain began.

Lorenz’ gaze flickered over him and for a brief moment Sylvain thought he could see a look of insecurity in his eyes.

Sylvain flopped back against the pillows. “Good, I meant,” he huffed a laugh, searching what was left of his fucked out brain for the right words. “Fun. Smoking hot, actually, damn. Where the hell did that come from?”

“Good to know I give off the air of a tepid fuck, Gautier,” Lorenz deadpanned.

Sylvain laughed outright, snorting once before Lorenz jammed a bony knuckle into his ribs. Sylvain composed himself, but couldn’t keep the idiotic grin off his face. He twirled a loose strand of Lorenz’ hair around a finger before tucking it behind his ear. “I like you like this,” he said, nipping at Lorenz’ shoulder, feeling unexpectedly affectionate.

Lorenz glared, searching for the insult.

“Soft,” Sylvain murmured into his shoulder. “Relaxed,” he continued, sliding a thumb along Lorenz’ jaw. “We should do this again,” he said, suggestion out of his mouth before being properly vetted by his brain.

Lorenz seemed surprised. Sylvain was desperately curious as to why.

Lorenz extricated himself from Sylvain’s loose embrace and Sylvain cursed internally for fucking up yet another moment with his stupid mouth.

He didn’t expect Lorenz to climb on top of him, biting kisses into his pecs.

“Oh, uh. Hah, I didn’t mean like. Now,” he said, silently commending his dick for the twitch of attention.

Lorenz paused, arched above Sylvain, & he could feel the hard line of Lorenz’ interest making itself known, poking him in the navel. “Oh?” Lorenz asked, locking eyes with him through a curtain of violet hair, “Can you not get it up again? I hear that’s a medical issue. Shall I send for a healer?”

Sylvain sat up, incensed, pinning Lorenz to the bed with bruising kisses between peals of laughter.

  
  
  


5

“The prodigal son returns,” Count Gloucester called from the study, surprising Lorenz as he walked by. “A moment of your time.”

Lorenz was road weary and caked in dust and mud, looking forward to nothing more than a long bath, but he knew when his father was not to be denied. “You’ll forgive me, father, I meant to clean up before coming to see you. I’m not at all presentable, at present.”

The Count gestured to the armchair across from him. “It’s no matter to me. Please, sit. You were waylaid days longer than anticipated, what kept you?”

Lorenz knew the danger in a lie, but also knew far better than to reveal too much. “The rain made the going worse than expected. I admit, I stopped at an inn to rest. I felt a chill and would rather not risk a cold.”

His father swirled his wine, sniffing it before taking a sip. “Any news from Myrddin?”

“Ah, yes,” he opened his satchel to hand off the intelligence from the border. “Peculiar troop movements on the Empire side. I’ve written the Ordelia heir to see if she’s heard any news on that front.”

“You know we have nothing to fear from the Empire.”

Lorenz pursed his lips. “I trust the Emperor and the Primeminister with my life, father, of course. But you know the Minister of the Imperial Household and his rabble make me… uneasy.”

“You’ve said as much before. Tell me Lorenz, how is Lord Gautier?”

Lorenz grimaced.

“Well, I hope. Such a strange time of year for the Margrave’s son to be this far south, don’t you suppose? Took a wrong turn at Daphnel, did he?”

“It would be… indelicate to say, father.”

“I suppose I can draw my own conclusions, given his reputation. Three days? Whatever could the two of you have gotten up to.” He set his glass aside.

“Come now father, how did you put it to Margrave Edmund? ‘Though my looks may be desiring, I have many other fine qualities to recommend me?’ Sylvain Gautier’s reputation may have it’s… accuracies. But rest assured he’d never waste his time on a face like mine.”

“Hm. Then enlighten me as to what he was doing in my territory, antagonizing our allies.”

Lorenz looked to the floor. “I am… uncomfortable. Imparting this information, as it involves the reputation of a lady, so I will omit her identity. He received a letter some months ago, from a woman he’d had, ahem, dealings with. She’d become… in a family way. He desired discretion, given his family’s stance on Crestbearers, so he rode out alone. Upon his arrival, well. It would seem the whole thing was a ploy by her father, it ended quite ugly, and while he was returning north he was set upon by unaffiliated mages, much farther from the border than you or I are comfortable with. I stepped in to manage the situation.”

His father nodded. “Were you hurt?”

“Crest exhaustion, the both of us. The inn was the safest place I could think to sleep.”

His father sighed. “The Empire is our largest trade partner. I don’t appreciate the implication of such friendliness toward dissenters in the Faerghus Dukedom.”

“If I may be so bold, father, I believe that’s a mistake.”

The Count looked taken aback.

“Riegan, Edmund and Goneril are firm in their stance that we remain neutral in the conflict between the Empire and remnants of the Kingdom. We cannot afford aggression from the Alliance in the North _and_ across the Oghma mountains from Fraldarius or Gautier. It would be prudent to keep our ties with them intact, at least until we know for certain which way the wind is blowing in Fhirdiad.”

“You’re being sentimental about your school days again.”

“I’m being _cautious_. Duke Riegan, ugh, loathe as I am to call him that, has been breathing down my neck about our ties to the Empire my last _three_ visits to Derdriu. ...I’ve offered to sell our grain surplus and some of our cattle to Lord Gautier.”

“You’ve _what-”_

“Nothing we can’t spare, and nothing that we have set aside for the Empire. They still get our best, naturally. But this will give us plausible deniability in Derdriu _and_ line our coffers _substantially_. You know as well as I do that the bulk of Gautier’s coin goes to food for their soldiers, what with Sreng constantly at their doorstep. They might as well spend it with us.”

The Count studied him for a moment. “I had deep reservations about sending you to that school, you know.” He poured a second glass of wine, offering it to his son. “It is heartening to hear you talk sense, for once.”

Lorenz accepted the glass with a nod of his head. “Garreg Mach was invaluable for the connections I made, father. But my greatest teacher has been your example.”

The Count smiled ever so slightly, raising a brow. “A high compliment, I’m sure. I must return to my business. Take the bottle. You have a guest.”

Lorenz stood. “You might have said earlier, father, I’m not fit to be seen! Do I have time to change, I abhor the thought of keeping them waiting any longer.”

The Count laughed softly. “For anyone else, I’d have held off on this conversation. However, I have no qualms about making the Primeminister wait for my son when I’ve been entertaining him myself for a day and a half.”

“Ferdinand is here!” Lorenz squeezed his father’s shoulder. “Do you expect us for dinner?”

The Count waved his hand in dismissal. “The Primeminister has taken more than enough of my time, I assure you. I’ll tell the kitchen staff to bring something to your room.”

“Thank you father,” Lorenz said, grabbing the bottle and his glass as he all but bounded from the room.

  
  
  


6

Lorenz hastened into the third floor conservatory where he found Ferdinand von Aegir settled into a plush couch, poring over a stack of books as he idly snapped off the end of a biscuit, popping it into his mouth. At Lorenz’ entrance, Ferdinand stood, delighted, tossing his book aside and throwing open his arms for his friend.

“Lorenz Gloucester, your father said you’d be but a moment yet here I am, sending for a new pot of hot-” he held Lorenz out at arms length. “Good heavens, what happened?”

“Ferdinand, my apologies,” he said, well aware of his state. “I didn’t keep you waiting too long, I hope?”

“Yes and no, my dear. I was under the impression you were to be back two days ago, and it’s clear you’ve only just arrived now. The _state_ of you.”

“Forgive the mud, father said that you were here and I simply couldn’t wait to see you a moment longer, propriety be damned.”

Ferdinand drew him in again. “Quite so my friend! I got your latest letter two weeks ago but it’s certainly not the same.” They sat together on the couch.

“Whatever brings you to this side of the Airmid?”

“The Emperor had business just outside eastern Hyrm and told me that my wistful sighs for your company so close to Myrddin were too much for her to bear. I find myself with two weeks leave and every intention to avail myself of your company. Only I arrived three days ago and what do I discover but you’ve gone out on Alliance business!”

“I’m terribly sorry Ferdie. I hope it was not too much to entertain yourself for a few days in my absence.”

“You can quite imagine I’ve helped myself to your training grounds and riding trails, oh, and the gardens are as lovely as always. I caught up on my correspondence yesterday and my work the day before. You are quite lucky you arrived today. Another night of idleness and I’d have given up on seeing you entirely.”

Lorenz arched a brow. “Why _Ferdinand_. Was my father not agreeable company?”

Ferdinand wheezed out a laugh, pouring two cups of tea. “ _Lorenz_.” 

Lorenz smiled fondly into his cup. “How fares your royal rival and your… erm. Your. Your Hubert”

Ferdinand leaned forward. “Oh Hubie’s been in a snit for nearly a month, all snappish and brooding. And not in the fun way.”

“However can you tell?” Lorenz muttered into his cup.

Ferdinand elbowed him gently, before dropping his voice to a whisper. “There’s something going on with Arundel’s mages, I don’t like it one bit. You know Hubert has to play nice with them for Edelgard’s sake, but he certainly doesn’t _enjoy_ it. If you ask _me_ , I think they’re looking for a way into upper Faerghus through the Alliance.”

“That’s blatant disregard for our sovereignty!”

Ferdinand huffed, annoyed. “Only if they get _caught_. How _troublesome_ it would be for Arundel if _that_ were to happen,” Ferdinand said, raising his eyebrows as he sipped delicately at the tea. “I can’t believe you were holding out on this blend of Leicester Cortania, it’s _rapturous_.”

Lorenz looked pleased. “ _Saving_ it for you, you goose. I’ll… hmm. I suppose I’ll inform my _Deer_ friend of this development. He’ll have something to say I’m sure, and if we’re _very_ lucky it may even be somewhat pragmatic and not _entirely_ harebrained,” he finished with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, bother the politics, how are you _really_?”

Ferdinand set down his cup, crossing his arms. “I can’t say that I’m unaffected by Hubert’s foul humor. We got into it halfway through our business in Hrym and he said some _very_ uncharitable things-”

“That _wretch-_ ”

“-and I may have left without speaking to him. Which I _know_ is childish-”

“As is churlish name-calling!” Lorenz interjected.

“-but I am considering it an _opportunity_ for him to miss me.”

“The _ingrate_ ,” Lorenz huffed.

“Oh, enough about all that then,” he said, patting Lorenz’ leg. “Whatever kept you?”

Lorenz played the events of the last week in his head in vivid detail, the very tips of his ears pinkening as he utterly lost his ability to form words.

“What in the world happened out there? It was just a ride to Myrddin and back, wasn’t it?” Ferdinand asked. 

“I. I-” Lorenz stuttered, covering his face with his hands. “Oh Ferdinand, something did happen.”

Ferdinand helped himself to more tea, sipping thoughtfully. “Well. Out with it.”

“I. I may have. There was. An incident.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Ferdinand asked, concerned.

Lorenz recalled how the aches in his more delicate areas had been exacerbated by riding for the last day. “...Not as such, no.”

Ferdinand looked at him expectantly.

“I may have- I- I may have taken... a paramour.”

Ferdinand stared in shock, setting his cup down with a clatter of china, before taking Lorenz’ hands with a bright grin. “Oh _Lorenz_ , finally! I’d so _hoped_. Was there a flirtation? How did he make his intentions known? It _is_ a he, isn’t it? Have I met them before?” Ferdinand clapped. “You _must_ bring them to Enbarr, it’s so romantic in the spring, and we can dine out together, the four of us! Oh! Or the six of us if Edelgard and Dorothea can spare the time.”

Lorenz held up his hands. “Ferdinand. That’s… Awfully kind. But there’s no need for…” Lorenz clasped his hands together, looking down at them. “There’s no need for any of that, really.”

“I’ve gotten ahead of myself again, my apologies. But… whyever not?”

Lorenz covered his mouth with a gloved hand. “It happened quite unexpectedly. But because of our respective social circumstances we decided it would perhaps be best if we didn’t… divulge our liaison to anyone.”

Ferdinand put a hand on his knee. “...Is it a commoner?”

Lorenz shook his head. “The less you know the better, I think.”

Ferdinand frowned. “...Was keeping your relationship a secret your idea or theirs?”

“Relationship is not the word I would use, Ferdie. ...I mentioned it first. But he agreed it would be for the best. A casual fling. He and I don’t orbit the same circles anyway, so the likelihood that we’ll see each other again is. Slim.”

“...Did _he_ say he wanted to see you again?”

Flustered, Lorenz put his chin on his hand. “He did, actually. I didn’t think- I- I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well he has some good sense, at least.”

Lorenz huffed a small laugh.

Ferdinand moved closer on the couch, until their legs were touching. “Well? ...Was he any good?”

“ _Ferdinand_ ,” Lorenz chastised him, scandalized.

Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “ _Lorenz_. I’ve been _more_ than forthcoming about the shared passions between myself and Minister von Vestra-”

“Despite my dearest wishes,” Lorenz said, wrinkling his nose.

Ferdinand took another biscuit with a sniff. “You’re stalling.”

Lorenz worried at his lower lip. “Yes. I suppose I am. I… We met by chance off the road outside Myrddin, he’d been drawn into an ambush. I’d let my retinue ride back early, I was waiting for some confidential letters, you know father prefers I handle certain correspondence myself, of course. In any case, I rather had to sweep in and save him.”

Ferdinand smiled, settling himself back into the cushions. “How dashing of you.”

“Hm. We got out relatively unscathed and spent the better part of the day on the road bickering. There’s a public house I’ll stay at when I’m too exhausted to make it to the estate, which was another hour at least of back and forth convincing him. He’s terribly quarrelsome,” Lorenz remarked, Ferdinand catching the fondness in his voice.

“This is all well and good but not what I asked,” Ferdinand said, poking him in the side.

Lorenz yelped, slapping at his arm. “Fine. He propositioned me at the tavern. I accepted. My bloom has been sufficiently plucked. Are you happy now?”

“Hardly,” Ferdinand drawled. “ _Sufficiently_? What a memorable experience it must have been.”

“I never even left the room. He would take his gratification until I was completely exhausted, and then he’d sweetly attend to me until I was... er. Ready to go again. He left only to pay the alewife and ask for our meals upstairs.” Lorenz’ blush was becoming more pronounced the longer he spoke. “He caught on to my... personal preferences rather quickly, and was most intent about, ah, slaking my thirst, so to speak. He is a very... capable lover.” Lorenz covered his face. “Goddess, don’t press me any further.”

Ferdinand was at the edge of his seat, enthralled. “And did you attend to his needs, or do you prefer to be attended to?”

“...His needs were well met. Profusely. In multifarious ways,” Lorenz said, smug, tight little smile momentarily overpowering his bashfulness at the subject.

Ferdinand crowed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, you sly devil! Where has this scandalous side of you been concealing itself?”

Lorenz sniffed, attempting to regain his composure. “I’m not _so_ tightly laced, you know.”

“Apparently not!” Ferdinand said, delighted.

Lorenz cleared his throat. “...Speaking of such things. From our prior conversations, erm. Well. ...I briefly entertained the idea of bringing this up with Hubert, as he and I share certain… tastes. But the idea of speaking with him on more… _intimate_ subjects did not ultimately seem _bearable_ or wise.”

“No, I wouldn’t recommend discussing such things with Hubert,” Ferdinand replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes. That was the conclusion I came to. I thought perhaps you might help me, then.”

“Of course Lorenz, anything. You know I’m the height of discretion.”

Lorenz nodded, patting his hand. “Of course I do my dear. ...You had mentioned that there’s an… atelier in Enbarr. Who specializes in certain… accoutrements. For. For private affairs.”

Ferdinand lit up again. “Oh! _Oh_. Yes! Of course. They deal almost exclusively with the nobility, and they’re quite committed to privacy. I’ll give you their details-”

“If it’s not too much, I thought. Perhaps if you’d go in person when you’re back in the capital, with my measurements and, er, specifications. I don’t particularly want this matter to be routed through House Gloucester.”

Ferdinand smiled. “Of course my friend. Oh how exciting for you! Is there anything else you need from me?”

Lorenz seemed relieved to move on to another subject. “Yes, actually. I need you to post some letters for me. ...Hubert still has his leonine contact, does he not?”

“He does. I’ll be happy to post them on your behalf. ...Anything I need to know?”

Lorenz contemplated the question. “Sending Gloucester provisions across the border. The situation in the Kingdom is dire. Von Riegan has been looking for a way to move supplies without instigating anything with the Empire, and we’ll need to move Alliance funds from Derdriu to make it look as though Gautier is footing the bill. I’ll need to write Fraldarius, so he can intercept the shipment on it’s way to the north. It’s a bit of shuffling, but not too complex.”

Ferdinand nodded solemnly. “I’ll deal with the matter with haste, then. It pains me to see such suffering and lack the power necessary to assuage it. Hubert and her majesty have dedicated themselves to eradicating the villains who have done this, to her family, to the empire, to the Ordelias… to the professor. But we cannot show our hand, not yet.”

Lorenz shared a pained nod with Ferdinand. “We carry on their work as best we can.”

Ferdinand stood, stretching. “I suppose it does not do to dwell while there’s still so much to be done. I imagine you want a bath before dinner? You can’t be comfortable in that state.”

Lorenz took his hand, rising. “I’ll draw the water. You can tell me about the latest to-do at the Mittelfrank, Dorothea glossed over the drama in her last letter.”

“Oh, it’s _quite_ a scandal,” Ferdinand said with relish. “I can’t wait to impart the details.”

“I’m salivating as we speak.”

“Lead the way,” Ferdinand said, looping an arm through Lorenz’.

  
  
  


7

Ferdinand walked into the office he shared with Hubert, laying a kiss against his brow. “You’re a welcome sight, von Vestra. The Gloucesters send their regards. And their coffee, though you’ve hardly done anything to deserve it.”

“And how was your little friend across the bridge? Still terribly occupied with tea parties and horses? How taxing the war must be for him. With the situation in Fhirdiad and his father on the outs with Derdriu, however is he to keep himself in silk stockings and fans?” Hubert asked derisively, dripping wax onto the letter and stamping his personal seal.

“Little friend? He’s still taller than you darling,” Ferdinand riposted. “And very well indeed, I should imagine,” he continued, voice dripping with affection as a dreamy smile crossed his face.

“Oh?” Hubert paused, stealing a surreptitious glance. “What makes you say that?”

Ferdinand draped himself in the chair adjacent to Hubert’s desk. “My dear friend finds himself entirely swept along in a passionate romance. It happened not three weeks ago. _And_ if my intuition is correct, I have it on good authority that he may find himself affianced in the very near future.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “And what poor unfortunate has _that_ particular honor? I shall send my condolences directly.”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Ferdinand said, voice low as he leaned closer, copper hair spilling over the correspondence laid out across the desk. “But I believe the leader of the Alliance has finally decided to make his play.” He clapped his hands, delighted. “Oh Hubie, I’ve been waiting for this since we were in school, you know. I couldn’t be happier for him.”

An inscrutable look passed over Hubert’s face as he dropped his humor, returning to his work. “...Interesting.”

Ferdinand knew that tone of voice intimately, and sat up with concern. “...What?”

“It’s nothing.”

Ferdinand nudged him with a boot under the desk. “Hubert. What aren’t you saying?”

Hubert flushed slightly, looking away. “It’s only that… I know for a fact that Claude von Riegan has been in the company of Lady Daphnel and General Goneril these last three months. Troubling events with the Eastern Church, and some security issues at the Locket.”

Ferdinand looked confused. “That’s. But that would be impossible. I’m sure it couldn’t be anyone else, there’s never _been_ anyone else. Who could he have meant?”

Hubert stared down at his letters, ink pooling from the nib of his pen, staining his fingertips black. “I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

Ferdinand racked his brains, clearly in distress. “If it isn’t von Riegan, than what in flames has he gotten himself into?”


	2. Part 2

8

Sylvain expected the punch to his pauldron, armor absorbing most of the blow with a clang and a light squeak that reminded him he was overdue for a thorough cleaning and oiling.

The hug was a surprise.

“You were a week late to the rendezvous point,” Felix, on tiptoe, muttered, squeezing Sylvain around the neck once before rocking back on his heels, slapping his breastplate in annoyance.

Sylvain scratched the back of his head, ruffling the hair that was stuck to his neck with dried sweat. “Yeah, that did happen,” Sylvain said with a wince, mentally preparing himself for either a public dressing down, or to be ignored for the next few days, depending on Felix’s mood.

Felix, hand on his shoulder, marched Sylvain toward House Fraldarius with purpose. “Ashe left after the second day, he had some business to attend to at the Alliance border. Ingrid had to leave for Galatea after the fifth. What happened.”

Sylvain sighed. “You were right about that intel, so feel free to rub that in Rodrigue’s face, I guess.”

“It was too convenient to be anything but. And?” he asked, steering Sylvain toward the kitchens. 

Sylvain caught the scent of cooked pork and rising dough, and was suddenly acutely aware of how long it had been since he’d last eaten. “Steamed buns?” he asked, hopeful.

Felix raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. What happened at the Bridge?”

“Ambush. The same mages we saw with Solon. They weren’t wearing anything that would have identified them as allies of the Empire, so I imagine that’s how they’re going to breach the Alliance, if they haven’t already.”

Felix squeezed his shoulder. “...How did you get out?”

Sylvain blew a stray hair out of his face. “I may have had help. A tiny, miniscule, itty bitty bit of help, that I absolutely didn’t actually need, just so we’re clear.”

Felix stared at him, unimpressed.

“...From uh, Lorenz Gloucester.”

Felix wrinkled his nose, taking his hand off Sylvain’s shoulder and falling in step beside him. “...Yeah. He said as much in his letter. I just wanted to confirm it with you.”

“His uh, he wrote a letter? What uh. What kind of letter?”

Felix let out a huff. “You can read it if you have a few _hours_ to spare.”

Sylvain chuckled. “Yeah, Gloucester isn’t exactly famous for his brevity.”

Felix rolled his eyes, smile curling up at the corner of his mouth. “Regardless. Ashe brought it here a few days ago, and von Riegan’s came by wyvern this morning.”

“What’s von Riegan got to do with it?”

Felix made a gesture to the cook over Sylvain’s shoulder, sitting next to him on one of the wide benches in the kitchens they used for informal meals. One of the kitchen assistants brought them both a plate of buns, still too hot inside to eat as Sylvain split one in half and watched the steam from the sweet pork filling rise toward the ceiling and dissipate in the air. Another assistant brought them two pints of last year’s ale from the cask in the corner that Felix acknowledged with a nod of thanks before they bowed lightly and returned to their work.

“Gloucester needed an excuse for your presence so close to Myrddin, and von Riegan’s been trying to coordinate with Rodrigue for a supply drop. As far as you’re concerned, House Gautier just bought Gloucester’s surplus. Derdriu has offered to foot the bill. No one’s really going to notice if the caravans don’t make it out of Fraldarius territory.”

Sylvain smiled, shaking his head. “Gloucester cooked all that up on his own? And here I thought he didn’t like me.”

Felix snorted. “If it makes you feel better, you’re the subject of the hottest gossip making its way through the Alliance.”

“Uff id I do?” he asked through a mouthful of dough.

“Got blackmailed by a commoner over a fake pregnancy, had it out with her father in front of the whole town before you ran off with your tail between you legs. The scandal.”

Sylvain choked slightly, pounding on his chest before he slugged his beer, clearing his throat. “I mean. That _does_ sound like me.”

Felix grinned, lightly kicking Sylvain under the table before taking a bun for himself. “Glad to see you back in one piece. Send a bird the next time you’re going to be late, idiot.”

Sylvain saluted. “Sir yes sir, Lord Fraldarius.”

“I was going to let you rest and clean up after this, but if you have enough energy to act like a jackass, maybe we should run some drills,” Felix said, eyes twinkling.

Sylvain wilted, leaning his head on Felix’s shoulder. “Please Goddess no. I take back everything I’ve ever said to upset you.”

Felix nudged him. “Even what you said about my hair?”

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, your hair is the paragon of strength, beauty and health and doesn’t at all look like an owl attacked you with a comb and that you’re hiding a premature bald spot.”

Felix lay a hand back on his shoulder. “Now tell me I’m handsome and say something nice about my sword.”

Sylvain’s eyes lit up as he looked at Felix, opening his mouth.

Felix tugged on the first lock of Sylvain’s hair he could reach. “Not that sword, you libertine.”

Sylvain smiled at him, picking up another bun to shove in his mouth. “It’s good to be home.”

“For a few days anyway. You’re going to Derdriu before the month is out.”

Sylvain looked surprised. “Why me? Send Annette or something, she _likes_ the ocean. I’ve had about as much of Alliance politics as I can take for the rest of the year.”

“Yet you’re the one brokering backdoor trade deals with Gloucester,” Felix said, poking him in the side. “You need to be there to oversee the exchange and accompany the first shipment. It would be suspicious otherwise.”

“Joy. Rapture. Are we sure that House Gautier isn’t under siege right now? I might be urgently needed at home.”

“Not even a permission slip from the Margrave will get you out of this.”

“You wouldn’t last twenty minutes in a siege,” Sylvain grumbled into his glass.

“You would doubt my ability as a warrior?” Felix returned, playful.

“I doubt your ability not to get bored immediately and jump the wall looking for a fight,” Sylvain said with a cheeky grin.

“I mean,” Felix said, laughing softly. “That _does_ sound like me.”

  
  
  


9

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Sylvain grunted, self satisfied, pulling out and settling on his side as he caught his breath. Lorenz was still on his hands and knees, legs trembling, and he could feel the slow drip of Sylvain’s spend down his thighs. He yelped when Sylvain caught him around the middle, pulling Lorenz’ body flush against his own, hips pressed to Lorenz’ backside.

This was not their first round.

Lorenz took Sylvain’s hand, gently tracing his fingers with a soft hum as Sylvain bit slow kisses into the sensitive nape of his neck.

“You know, I bitched to Felix about this trip to Derdriu, but I’m definitely enjoying the sights,” he purred.

“You haven’t seen anything outside my family’s apartments and the Duke’s reception hall.”

“ _I know_ ,” Sylvain laughed.

“You should at least go to the shore. It’s beautiful this time of year.”

Sylvain snorted, reaching a hand between them to lazily finger his cum back into Lorenz’ twitchy, oversensitive little hole. He thoroughly enjoyed the particular brand of half protest he was beginning to associate with the kind of depraved shit that drove the Gloucester heir completely feral. “Not a huge fan of water, if I’m completely honest.”

“Oh?”

“You always remember your first assassination attempt, you know?”

Lorenz squeezed the hand he’d been holding. “Mm. ...I’ve never been a fan of the cold, if I’m completely honest.”

Sylvain closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the back of Lorenz’ neck, feeling the gentle pull of a light doze. The silence stretched between them, comfortable.

“...Sylvain. Do you mind if I ask you a question of a… more personal nature?”

“Sure,” he said, with a kiss that Lorenz could feel bloom into a grin against his nape. “Didn’t want to get too personal before now.” Lorenz shivered in his arms as he crooked the finger inside him. “Would have been unseemly.”

“...Forgive me, but I thought you and Fraldarius were... something of an item? At least, that was the assumption when we were at the monastery.”

Sylvain paused mid kiss, abandoning his playful ministrations to roll onto his back with a groan. Lorenz, frowning at the loss of contact, turned to face him. “Was I wrong?”

Sylvain winced at the ceiling, scrubbing hands through his hair. “Ha. Yeah. Felix and I have never. _Will_ never,” Sylvain searched for the words. “Sothis, am I _that_ obvious?” he laughed. “Felix is in love with someone who isn’t, uh. Me.” Sylvain finished, eyes widening in horror at the admission.

Lorenz let out a small, sympathetic sound, propping himself on his elbow as he brushed the hair away from Sylvain’s face. “Ah. I… have a more complete picture now, thank you.”

Sylvain looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve… never even said that out loud before.”

Lorenz kissed his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Sylvain covered his face with his palm, mortified. “Please don’t think that I- I’m not. I’m not _using you._ Like that.”

Lorenz pulled the hand away from his face, laying it across Sylvain’s chest as he settled into his shoulder. “I was under the impression we were using _each other._ Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re… not wrong,” he said, followed by a deep sigh. “I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me until you’re ready, if ever,” Lorenz murmured, eyelids fluttering, drowsy in the warmth of late afternoon sunlight filtering through the windows, illuminating the slow dance of dust motes floating through the bedroom.

“I… thanks,” Sylvain whispered, kissing the crown of Lorenz’ hair as he curled around him, succumbing to the siren song of sleep. 

  
  
  


10

  
  


Lorenz crested the hill at full gallop, side by side with Leonie, spear at the ready. He kept one eye on Hilda, holding on for dear life, axe strapped to her back as Marianne expertly lead Dorte through the ruin that was once Garreg Mach, and one eye on Claude, a familiar yellow blur weaving in and out of the canopy. He slowed his mount at the outskirts of the monastery, Claude finding a perch on the wall high above him, where Cyril and Lysithea soon joined him.

He nodded at Ignatz as his bespectacled friend readied his bow, Raphael jumping off the back of his horse, stretching his arms and running through a series of punches, gauntlets slicing the air with a quiet whistle.

“What do you see?” Lorenz called to his comrades above him.

As if in answer, a brilliant streak of light extended into the air, the shape distinct in its chain-like appearance.

Claude sucked in a breath.

“It _couldn’t_ be,” Lysithea said, audible even as the clang of the skirmish inside echoed among the stones.

Claude took off, Cyril and Lysithea not far behind.

From his left, Lorenz saw Ashe Ubert charging through the undergrowth that had attempted to reclaim the monastery, Ingrid Galatea above him on a pegasus.

“Raphael!” Lorenz called. “Clean up anything that attempts to follow us! We’re going ahead!”

“I’ll stay with Raphael,” Ignatz said with conviction, he and Lorenz exchanging a knowing look.

“Stay safe, the both of you,” Lorenz said, spurring on his horse.

He and Leonie made their way into the thick of the fighting, trying to make it through to the courtyard where he could see the telltale crackle of crest magic illuminating the post dusk gloom. He dismounted when the going became too troublesome for his horse, lance in one hand, saggitae dancing along his fingertips as his crest glowed in the air above him.

A spell not his own illuminated the darkness in a bright flash, and he had just enough light to see Linhardt shoot him a small wave from the edge of a parapet before climbing down and out of sight.

He caught up to Claude on the steps of the abbey, knocking an archer off the second story of the facade with a well aimed fireball. They took the steps two at a time, running through the massive doors and inside.

It was only for a fraction of a fraction of a moment, but Lorenz watched as Claude’s face fell, mask of good natured composure snapping back into place as though it had never slipped at all.

The true wielder of the Sword of the Creator stood in front of what remained of the altar, almost entirely obscured in the embrace of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, King of Faerghus.

  
  
  
  


11

“I think we need some ground rules,” Sylvain began, sitting at the table across from Lorenz in the Dining Hall at Garreg Mach for perhaps the first time since the Professor had forced them to share stilted meals and thinly veiled antagonism, years ago.

“Did Fraldarius blow off your embarrassing overtures for training again? Or are you just avoiding a war meeting?” he mused, largely ignoring Sylvain in favor of a plate of fish sauté and the large book on dark seals Linhardt had secreted away for him from Seteth’s collection. He chewed thoughtfully, noting the blush creeping up Sylvain’s neck. The weeks Dedue was assigned cooking duty were always especially pleasant.

Sylvain sighed, chin in one hand as he picked at his pasta. Eyeing Lorenz’ plate hungrily, Sylvain waited until he was turning a page before attempting to steal a bite. Without looking up, Lorenz rapped his knuckles with a butter knife and Sylvain withdrew his fork with a hiss and a clatter of silverware.

“He’s at Fódlan’s Locket,” he remarked, rubbing his hand with a wince. “There was suspicious mage activity that Lord Holst wanted the Professor to look into, and since Dedue is still healing up from last month. Dimitri. Well. You know. Felix felt like he needed to go.”

Lorenz looked up from his book, and with an irritated huff slid his plate toward Sylvain. “You’ll never be as good at that as Hilda, you know. You don’t have the bone structure. Next time either ask or get something you actually like.”

“I wanted to try something new,” he said, digging in to Lorenz’ dinner with a wink. “I’m surprised you didn’t know, since Hilda & von Riegen are with them.”

“I know this may come as a shock to you but I’m not the keeper of the comings and goings of the entire Leicester Alliance,” he remarked, bristling.

“Hmm,” Sylvain said, leaning forward. “That’s a lie, but sure.”

Lorenz glared. “I’ve been preoccupied.”

“Yeah you have,” Sylvain said with a lascivious grin.

“With my mage certifications,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah, how’s that going, by the way?”

He slammed his book shut, drawing the attention of the sparse groups of soldiers gathered in the dining hall. “You are _such_ an irritating-“

“But I _can_ be persuaded to shut up,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Lorenz flushed, looking for eavesdroppers, before poking him in the chest with a hiss. “Your chambers. Twenty minutes. If you’re late I’m leaving and I’m taking a souvenir.”

Sylvain smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “Hot.”

—-

“First crush?” Sylvain asked, “and why is your bed so much more comfortable than mine?”

Lorenz buried his face in a pillow. “Ugh. How are you always so chatty? Fine,” he leaned up on his elbow, stretching. “But you only get one answer.”

Sylvain looked torn. “Alright. The bed thing. But only because my back is still completely jacked up and I lament everything I ever did to deserve the mattress in my room.”

“I would advise against getting stepped on by demonic beasts, for a start,” Lorenz said with a wry smile.

Sylvain looked to be on the verge of sticking his foot entirely in his mouth, so Lorenz deftly flipped him onto his stomach, straddling his thighs.

“This is a new- oooohhh-“ Sylvain grunted as Lorenz started massaging his back, warming his hands with healing magic.

“I had the mattress sent from the Gloucester estate-“ Lorenz lightly slapped his shoulder as Sylvain shook with laughter. “Don’t laugh you cock, we were in school then. Ignatz secures my linens in exchange for supplementing Raphael’s household income and providing extra security for his sister. Don’t tell them I told you.”

“That’s... really sweet, actually. But how did it survive the sacking of Garreg Mach?”

“I hid it in the rafters before we had to evacuate. Lo and behold it was there unscathed when we returned.”

“...You’re completely ridiculous,” he said, blissed out.

“And your first crush?”

“Are you trying to seduce me for information Gloucester? This is highly- oh yeah right there- highly unfair.”

“Is it working?”

“Lambert. I was like, four, & he fixed my toy horse. Don’t tell Dimitri. First kiss?”

Lorenz winced. “Hilda,” he lied smoothly.

“No fucking way,” he grunted into the pillow, delighted.

“I was briefly engaged to Holst, I must have been eleven or so. She accidentally pushed me down a flight of stairs in the process. It was certainly... memorable.”

“Dimitri,” Sylvain replied with an air of resignation. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Lorenz laughed. “What? How? Heavens, how was it?”

“Ugh. Wet? Mostly teeth? He gripped my arm so hard it bruised. It was... woof. Bad.”

Lorenz chuckled, channeling magic along his fingertips and into Sylvain’s shoulders, pleased to watch the remnants of mottled bruises disappear into his usual warm complexion.

“He was so nervous. I still feel bad for him, thinking back on it. Felix and Ingrid kissed on a dare, and Dimitri was… upset. Afraid we were all growing up and leaving him behind. You know, kid stuff. So he... ugh this is so embarrassing. Asked if he could practice. With me.”

“But you had never-“

He shrugged. “I’ve always been a flirt. People assume. Hey, we both got way better at it so it worked out in the end, really.”

Lorenz pressed his thumbs into the divots in Sylvain’s lower back. “I think you’re lucky.”

“Hmmm... how do you figure.”

“It’s just... I’m glad you had people. To help you figure things out, who knew you from back then. Despite everything that’s happened. It’s... nice.”

“It’s humiliating,” he said smiling, twisting to look at Lorenz over his shoulder. His gaze had a tenderness that caught Lorenz off guard.

Sylvain fumbled for the table and passed the screw top vial of oil to Lorenz. “You should fuck me while I’m feeling this loose,” he said, resting his chin on the back of his palms.

“I... You want that?”

Sylvain looked back at him, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?” He thumbed at the hip that was within his reach. “I feel great right now. Make me come.”

  
  
  


12

“Did you and von Riegen ever fuck?” Sylvain asked, point blank, chewing the meat off a skewer.

Lorenz looked at him aghast. “I beg your- how could you possibly think-“

“ _What?_ You’ve been around the guy more than anyone else, as far as I can tell. I thought. You know. Maybe there’s a deeper history there. You two have weird sexual tension, I thought maybe it was an exes thing,” he shrugged.

Lorenz inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You have to have picked up some of your tricks somewhere, I mean. Oh, fuck, or-“ Sylvain turned to him with dawning comprehension.

“Sylvain,” he hissed.

“You want to. Oh, shit. You _want_ him. That makes _so much_ -“

Lorenz locked a hand around his bicep, marching him away from the dining hall and into the entrance hall, shoving him against the stone.

Sylvain opened his mouth to protest.

“ _No._ Shut up. Right now. You don’t breathe _a word_ of this. To _anyone_.”

“Fuck Lorenz, what‘s the big deal,” he began, indignantly and dramatically righting his clothes before looking at Lorenz. His face fell. “Oh. I. Fuck, _fuck._ You’re _in love_ with him.”

Lorenz backed away, scrubbing a hand over his face in frustration as Sylvain sagged against the wall. “Hey, at least I can empathize, right?” he nudged Lorenz with an elbow.

“I promise you, you _absolutely_ can’t,” Lorenz replied, voice trembling.

Sylvain reached for him and Lorenz shrugged him off, still clearly livid. Sylvain dropped his arms to his sides. “Than maybe fucking _explain_ it to me? I know the continent is about to get leveled by some fucking proxy war between powers I’m not even going to pretend to try to understand, and I know _you’re_ really committed to being _fucking miserable,_ but I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I don’t think it’s as _hopeless_ as you-”

Lorenz shoved him back into the wall, pinning him there with his forearm, gripping his collar in a tight fist. “Even if he ever even _looked_ in my direction, which he decidedly has _not_ and will _never_ do. You know absolutely nothing about the politics of the Alliance. Even a joke, a _joke_ about this around the wrong people- you are jeopardizing _everything_ . Everything that’s important to me, everything that _you_ love. Everything. This conversation. Revelation. Whatever you think you’ve just had, it didn’t happen. There are things at play here that you _do not understand_ , and for your own safety, _please_ just shut. The fuck. Up.”

“Hey! Gloucester-”

Lorenz turned, rolling his eyes as Fraldarius and Ubert approached. Felix had a hand on the hilt of his sword, looking for an excuse. Ashe merely looked concerned.

“Alright there, Sylvain?” Ashe asked, tugging on the back of Felix’s shirt.

They stepped away from the wall, Sylvain moving out of Lorenz’ personal space.

“ _Heeey_. Ashe. Felix. It’s fine. Just a little disagreement, right Lorenz?”

Lorenz took a deep breath, centering himself. “Yes. I may have overreacted. For which I apologize. I just hope you take what I said to _heart_ .” Lorenz shot a knowing look at Felix, and Sylvain paled. “ _Gaultier_ ,” he said, turning to leave with a nod.

“Lorenz. We can talk about it later, yeah?”

Lorenz froze, glaring daggers at him. “Of course. I’ll let you know the next night I’m available. Busy month,” he shot over his shoulder as he walked away.

Felix snorted. “What an insufferable prick. ...Are you alright?”

“...Fuck off, Felix,” Sylvain muttered, shouldering past them and back toward the dormitories, alone.

  
  
  


13

Claude had accounted for the possibility of surprise reinforcements from, he suspected, Volkhard von Arundel, (if that was indeed Volkhard von Arundel, the veracity of his identity now more suspect than ever,) but it was the sheer _number_ he didn’t take into account.

Their retreat this time was somewhat less strategic and more what one would call a complete clusterfuck, and the moments between when he was shot and getting airborn are a vague smear of color and sound and mostly pain in his short term memory.

When the mages managed to take down his wyvern, he had the presence of mind to mourn her, a nippy little thing since she’d hatched but genuinely affectionate, for approximately ten seconds before they crashed, skidding to a halt on loamy soil. She’d curled around him protectively before she’d shuddered, and was gone.

He heard boots in the underbrush and the distinct sound of those not-quite Adrestian accents that had been plaguing him since Kronya first made her appearance, and he attempted to make peace with the agonizing way he was probably going to die. At the very least, he hoped they’d stay away from his face. He liked his face. Let him die with a little vanity.

Through a gap under his wyvern’s tail, Claude saw the flare of crest magic dancing along a pair of black gloves and the glint from the goggles on one of those stupid fucking plague masks. He didn’t bother closing his eyes.

The giant arrow of light that descended from the forest canopy was somewhat unexpected.

The mage in question did not fare particularly well from a point blank hit with raw magic, body falling with the kind of thud Claude hadn’t realized he would be able to instantly recognize at this point in his life. The force of the cast threw other mages in the vicinity off their feet, and sprayed a shower of dirt and debris directly into his face.

He couldn’t see most of what was happening, vision blurring in and out of focus, but shouting and the clash of weapons reached him soon enough, the air heavy with that distinct ozone scent that always accompanied magic that strong. The spell hit again, further away from him this time, and the tree branches cast spindley shadows through thin wyvern wings as everything within 50 meters was illuminated with intense white light.

He lost time after that, unsure if his eyes were closed for seconds or hours, but when he opened them again what he registered first was a silver lance attached to a tall violet stick shape.

His sigh of relief was somewhat obstructed by the arrows in his side, which he’d somehow forgotten about. The noise he made upon rediscovering them would be embarrassing if he weren’t currently beyond embarrassment.

“Claude,” called a relieved, familiar voice. The wings around him were moved aside and there was a brief pause of evaluation. “ _Fuck_.”

He attempted not to laugh, and failed. It hurt, which he supposed he deserved.

“Bad?” he rasped, not entirely sure if sound was coming out of his mouth.

Lorenz leaned over him, paused, and then abruptly threw his lance, pinning an enemy soldier to a tree by the neck. He checked his surroundings a second time before leaning close, pulling off a gauntlet and letting his hand hover near the projectiles sticking out of Claude.

“It… could have gone better, today,” Lorenz said, as Claude’s head lolled involuntarily. Lorenz caught him, rolling him into a more upright position. “I lost my virginity to Raphael,” he said, apropos of nothing.

“You _what?”_ Claude said, head snapping up.

Lorenz took that moment to remove the arrows from him in one swift pull. He threw up, in all likelihood _on Lorenz,_ but managed to cling to a kind of consciousness.

He heard the tear of fabric before a warm hand was on his bare skin, and when the outpouring of magic seeped into him and through him, curling somewhere in his chest and knitting together all his aches, he’d never felt anything so wonderful. His whole body sagged, and Lorenz had to catch him again.

“Can you move?” Lorenz asked, looking around wildly, trying to get them up.

“You got. Loooong eyelashes. Did you know?” Claude said, drool spilling down his chin.

Lorenz held his face, looking into his eyes. “Are you quite alright? I… I’ll admit I’m not proficient at healing.”

Claude was unsure how to answer that question as he was distracted noting the flecks of darker purple in Lorenz’ eyes. He appreciated the second flood of healing magic all the same, feeling it down to his toes and crackling over his teeth. The world suddenly sharpened and his thoughts came in to focus. “So that’s what a concussion feels like,” he grunted, as Lorenz got them both standing.

“Do you need anything from your saddlebags?” Lorenz asked, propping him up against a tree. He laid hands on him again, and Claude felt the familiar sensation of a Ward spell snap into place around him. How typically thorough of him.

Claude massaged his side. “Leather satchel in the left one, if you can reach it. You have any other weapons on you? Lost a decent silver bow, snapped it somewhere between getting shot and eating shit.”

Lorenz tied the satchel haphazardly around his waist, shouldering Claude again as he hurriedly made his way through the woods. Claude was suddenly grateful that Lorenz’ insistence on lance training made him stronger than he appeared. “Your vulgarity has returned, that’s always a good sign,” he muttered. 

Lorenz’ horse spotted them, making her way in their direction, clearly as keen to leave as they were. In a clever move, Lorenz helped him up onto a rock to get him into the saddle with as little fuss as possible, producing a short spear for Claude from a saddlebag and gracefully climbing on behind him.

Claude leaned back into him as Lorenz spurred them into a gallop, any attempt at composure abandoned in the forest behind them, and he felt Lorenz pull him in closer, in all likelihood the only thing keeping him upright.

“How many times did you fail your priest certifications? Three?” he mused aloud.

He could feel Lorenz tense up behind him.

“Four,” he said tersely.

“And how many times for your bishop certs, that was like, two, right?”

“...Yes.”

Claude laughed, the grim reality of how very close that call was manifesting as a heady euphoria.

He turned his head, Lorenz resting his chin on Claude’s shoulder in an attempt to keep them balanced. “Remind me that I’m not allowed to make fun of you for that from now on,” he called into the air as the landscape rushed past them.

“...Raphael though? Really?”

“No,” he returned acidly. “I needed a suitably shocking distraction.” 

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short Lorenz, you two would be cute together. Better make a move before Bernie does.”

“Shut up, Claude.”

—-

They’d been traveling for hours, using the road when they could and cutting into the forest every now and again when Lorenz heard the telltale sign of other travelers, stopping only to briefly feed and water Lorenz’ horse, Buttermilk. There was enough moonlight out by now that they could still travel, but Lorenz didn’t want to risk a lantern and the going was slow. Claude had had the luxury of drifting in and out of sleep since they began, trusting that he was pathetic enough that Lorenz would keep him from falling out of the saddle, but his riding companion had to be exhausted. When they abruptly turned off the road, he came up out of a half doze.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s an old von Bergliez manor house here, some third cousin of Caspar’s if I remember correctly. I visited it with mother, ages ago. It’s been quit entirely, money troubles when the Dagdan conflict began, and then a small fire took care of the rest. It might be enough to keep us dry for the evening. ...I fear neither Buttermilk nor I can keep going for much longer and we’re too far from the Alliance border for me to feel comfortable flagging down a convoy.”

Sure enough, nearly a mile off the path a great stone silhouette rose up out of the wilderness, outbuildings crumbling but the bulk of the house still intact, except for a caved in roof over the western wing.

Claude grunted as Lorenz helped him off the horse, gripping his shoulder for support as they made their way to the front entrance.

Lorenz attempted the door, leaning his head against it with a perturbed _thunk_ upon finding it locked. “I suppose we could break a window…?”

Claude hit the pins in the hinges with the butt of his short spear, stepping aside as the door tipped forward and slid, clattering down the steps. Buttermilk, happily chewing on the overgrown flowers spilling out of what was once probably a fountain, was largely unbothered by the noise.

Lorenz shot him a pointed look. “If I have to fight anything your idiocy just woke up, I’m going to slap you,” he said tartly, offering his arm for support.

“Kinky,” Claude said with a grin as Lorenz laughed despite himself, exasperated, taking his arm as they walked through the foyer.

The house was a disaster, floorboards warped, peeling paper sloughing off the walls like limp ribbon, curtains the victim of moth eaten neglect. What wasn’t covered in a thick layer of dust was streaked with ash, and the only furnishings were either too burned or broken to salvage or built into the property itself.

Lorenz managed to find half a silver candelabra with a few candles still wedged inside it, and sparking a small flame between his thumb and forefinger, lit the wicks to give them a bit of light. He shuffled Claude against him to give his other arm enough space to hold the candles, crest glyph lightly glowing in the air as he held a spell for any unexpected surprises. Claude could feel Lorenz’ heart hammering through his plate mail, apprehension and adrenaline doing their work.

“l like the seclusion, but the wallpaper is so dated. Painted silk? With those moldings? Criminal,” Claude gestured as Lorenz shuffled them from room to room in the eastern wing, looking for a safe spot to rest.

“And the neighbors? Atrocious,” Lorenz added. Claude grinned. He’d been fishing for a scolding. Lorenz wasn’t usually in the mood to play along.

“The location is fine, but I worry about the property values.”

“Their groundskeeper does have an avant garde approach to his craft, which Buttermilk rather enjoys.”

“She’s an arbiter of good taste,” Claude said, chuckling.

Lorenz smiled at him, preening slightly. “I’m glad you think so. She’s one of mine.”

It was probably the bone deep exhaustion, but Claude swore he could feel heat prickling up the back of his neck.

Lorenz cleared his throat. “There’s not much on this level, I’m afraid. I’m loathe to try the upstairs, I barely trust the floors let alone the staircases, but the kitchens are clearly on the other side of the house. What should we do?”

“Do you remember anything from being here with your mother?”

Lorenz paused to think. “She was still living with us at the estate then, it was a very long time ago. Most of what I can recall is hiding from the awful von Bergliez’ children in the wine cellar.”

“...There’s a wine cellar?”

—-

“There’s _wine_ ,” Claude said in awe as they carefully made it down the steps of an unnecessarily large wine cellar for a property of this size. It had taken more than a few minutes and ample application of physics to unstick the cellar door, but the struggle was ultimately worth it. Hundreds of bottles shelved in neat rows, arranged by type and country of origin. The shelves closer to the door had been packed into crates, but the crates, too, were stacked full, the job likely abandoned when the house was.

Choosing a row of shelves at random in an effort to find anywhere comfortable they could sleep, Lorenz caught sight of Dagdan vintages he had never even _heard_ of, and the hedonistic part of him was warring with his ethical nature over purloining a few bottles from a house in Edelgard’s territory. For cajoling favors from Shamir alone they were worth their weight in gold.

“This von Bergliez had good taste,” Claude remarked as he steadied himself on a shelf.

“In wine if not wives,” Lorenz replied offhand. “Ah! There’s an old settee and some chairs, the cellar hand must have used them.” He set the candelabra precariously on the floor, mindful of where it was broken, and returned to Claude, who was in the process of pulling a bottle off the shelf. 

“I haven’t seen this in _years_ , it’s Almyran Retsina.”

Lorenz squinted at him. “I’m… unfamiliar.”

“Pine needle wine,” he grinned, leaning on him again to get to the settee. “This was a particularly good year.”

Lorenz made a face. “That sounds… interesting.”

“Your mother liked it.”

“I’m sorry, _when_ did you meet my mother?”

Claude laughed. “Before I met _you_. After great grandfather named me his successor.”

“I… I didn’t know you went to her estate.”

Claude sprawled across the settee, leaning on an arm as Lorenz unstacked a chair and set it next to him. “I’ve never been more grateful for a piece of furniture in my life,” he said, settling himself. “A pity we can’t have a fire. ...I wanted to meet your mother to get her insights on your father.”

“I imagine she had more than a few,” Lorenz commented dryly. 

“It was an eye opening visit,” he laughed. “We still exchange letters every now and again.”

Lorenz was somewhat surprised. “I imagine it must be nice, receiving her uncensored

correspondence.”

Claude sat up slightly. “Her- sorry, what? Does the Count-“

“All of my personal mail to the estate goes through him, yes. Things deemed… inappropriate. I simply never receive.”

“...Wow. Wow, what a bastard. I uh. Sorry, no offense? I thought you always kind of, you know. Maybe didn’t see eye to eye with your dad on _everything_ but I thought you were somewhat uh. Close.”

“We have a… complex relationship.”

“How did I not know this?”

“You rarely talk about your own parents.”

“Yeah, but the mystery is part of the _appeal_ ,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Lorenz shifted his weight. “You know how it is. Projecting the image of a charmed life is more astute than giving your political enemies a target to aim at.”

“Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Are we no longer political enemies? When did that happen?”

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “Somewhere between our fortieth and fiftieth cup of tea, I would imagine. I need to do a full sweep of the room, I’ll try to find a bottle opener in the meantime.”

Claude bit the cork and pulled it out with his teeth, spitting it in an arc across the stone. “No need,” he said, lifting the bottle in a salute before taking a swig.

“So refined.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Claude called after him as he walked away. “You look a lot like her.”

Lorenz sighed. “...I don’t, but that was a gracious thing to say, thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

—-

Miracle of miracles, Lorenz found a corkscrew, a long abandoned mouse nest, and little else of interest in the cellar. He discovered a small stash of empty bottles under a shelf up against the far wall, likely the cellar hand’s share, and took them with him before returning to Claude.

“Find anything good? What’s with the bottles?”

Lorenz walked wearily up the steps, setting them in front of the closed door. “I believe you taught me this trick the last time we were in Derdriu. We don’t have to worry about windows at least, but we’ll know if someone opens the door.”

Claude relaxed back into the settee and Lorenz was finally, _finally_ able to sit down. Claude handed him the bottle and he sniffed at it, taking a sip. “...Unexpected. But not unpleasant.” He took a longer taste before handing it back and pulling their bags toward him. He passed Claude some dried noa fruit and jerky, as well as a water skin, hard cheese, and a few morphis plums. “Please drink more than wine. You’re dehydrated.”

Claude looked lovingly at the food. “You have the distinction of being my favorite person in the world at this moment,” he said, shoving a plum in his mouth and pulling the cheese toward him.

“I’m basking,” he muttered, pulling out a few loose first aid items as he unbuckled his armor with a wince. He turned in his chair in an attempt at privacy, but it was rather too late for that. In the candlelight, Claude saw that the entire left side of his shirt was soaked in blood.

“Lorenz-“

“It’s not bad,” Lorenz cut him off, unbuttoning his shirt and delicately peeling the fabric away from the wound, pouring water on a scrap of cloth to clean himself up as best as he could. “It just bled more than expected.”

Claude sat up. “It’s _still_ bleeding, why don’t you-“

“You _know_ I can’t heal myself-“

“I was _going_ to say drink a vulnerary-“

Lorenz reached in the bottom of his satchel and held up the top of a shattered vial. “It broke in the kerfuffle, I didn’t realize until we’d stopped to let Buttermilk rest-“

“I had extra in my saddlebags! You should have-“

“We had more pressing concerns at the moment, _Claude_.”

“You must have _some_ kind of spell, or something-“

“I’m tapped.”

“What do you mean, you’re-“

“ _At the moment_ ,” he said, annoyed, “I could probably manage a fireball, if I weren’t terribly concerned about blacking out afterward.”

“So you have _nothing_ right now. You physically carried me for _hours_ today-“

“Buttermilk did most of the heavy lifting-“

“ _Lorenz_.”

“It’s a _scratch!_ “

Claude pushed his shirt aside. “This is a _stab wound_!”

Lorenz jerked the shirt out of his hands, covering himself. “I got nicked by a halberd, it was a miscalculation, I am _fine_ , if you could stop _fussing-“_

“You are _unbelievable_. How have you not passed out from blood loss or crest exhaustion?”

“I am _trying_ to pass out, actually! But I am uncomfortable enough that I’d at least like to wash myself and put a bandage on before I do so!”

“How exactly are you going to get any sleep when you’re clearly in pain?” Claude rebuked.

Lorenz snatched the bottle of wine away from him and downed the rest of its contents while making furious eye contact, spilling enough on himself that he had to wipe his mouth on his sleeve afterward. “There. Problem solved! Happy?”

Claude inhaled sharply, tugging at the roots of his hair. “How are you this _aggravating_?!”

“Do pardon me _Claude_ , but may I remind you that one of us almost _died_ today and it wasn’t _me_.”

Whatever else Claude had to say, he thought better of it, snapping his mouth shut and pushing himself to his feet with some effort. He pulled the first bottle off the shelf that he could reach. “Teutates Select, dry white from Hrym, about 20 years old.”

Lorenz slid his shirt off one arm, tending to himself. “Decent vintage. A personal favorite of the Count’s.”

Claude shoved it back onto the shelf. “Is there anything _the Count_ doesn’t drink?”

“Any reds from Brigid.”

“Great,” he said, limping off and returning some minutes later with two bottles in each hand. He lay back on the settee, grabbing the corkscrew on the table and freeing the cork from the first with an expert twist of the wrist, sniffing at its contents before taking a long drink.

Lorenz picked at his shirt unhappily, the drying blood stiffening the material.

Claude sighed, placing the bottle down on the table and unfastening his half cape before throwing it at Lorenz.

“What is the meaning-“ he sputtered.

“Toss the shirt and use that. It didn’t get completely massacred today, and it’ll annoy you less, which will annoy _me_ less,” he said, picking the wine up again and pointedly looking away while he drank.

Lorenz wrapped it around himself and tossed his shirt on the floor behind them. Claude handed him the bottle. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little fuzzy, now. Which is frankly a relief.”

Claude settled over the arm of the settee again. “...How did you get to me, anyway? I thought you were with Lysithea’s battalion.”

Lorenz took another drink. “I was. Petra saw you from her wyvern and Linhardt was kind enough to warp me over-“

“You hate warping.”

“A disorienting but wholly necessary evil. We discovered that Linhardt can move fully armored cavalry now, so that at least will be a boon for our future endeavors.”

“Love to hear that you’re just throwing yourself into crest magic, completely untested,” Claude muttered softly, clearly not amused.

“Linhardt is a gifted mage and I trust him. You’ve taken far greater risks when there were no other options available to you.”

“Yeah, sure. But you’re supposed to be the overly cautious one.”

“And you’re supposed to be clever enough not to make wagers you can’t win.”

“Ouch,” he grunted, flopping back in his seat. “...I’ll admit that today wasn’t my best. I didn’t account for Arundel-“

“You think it was Lord Arundel? That’s a serious allegation to lay against the emperor’s uncle.”

Claude waved a hand. “It’s a working theory. ...I don’t like feeling like a pawn in someone else’s game.”

“What are we, if not pawns in a game our grandparents started before we were born, paying the interest on mistakes no one even remembers?” Lorenz returned, swirling the bottle before sniffing at it and taking another long pull.

Claude snatched it out of his hands. “Oh no no no, you’re a _maudlin_ drunk? Absolutely not.”

“What did you expect? A brawl?”

“I don’t know,” he began, between swigs. “Thought maybe you’d take off your shirt, dance on the table. Maybe try and kiss me.” His eyes were twinkling, clearly looking for a reaction.

“My apologies for being a less desirable drinking partner than _Hilda_.”

“I was talking about _me_ ,” he said, offering the bottle back to him with a wink.

Lorenz nodded to the three waiting bottles on the floor. “Do you really expect we can finish that many? One and a half is excessive, and I’m beginning to feel quite drowsy.”

Claude sat up as if remembering them. “The second Retsina is for me, but these caught my eye,” he said, holding a bottle out to Lorenz.

He inhaled sharply, surprised as he held it, looking over the label. “Gracious. I never thought I’d see one of these again.”

“What is it?” Claude asked, curious. “I recognized the rose, but I didn’t think House Gloucester had any vintners in their prestigious lineage.”

Lorenz shook his head. “Four generations back, on my father’s side. Great great grandfather was a lover of plants, he’s responsible for the Gloucester rose cultivar as it exists today, as it happens. Prior to that they grew wild in our territory, and they were adapted into our gardens as they were, of course, but the blooms were much smaller and less fragrant, hardly the impressive-“

Claude took another sip, raising his eyebrows, amused.

Lorenz cleared his throat. “In any case. _That_ particular Count Gloucester took an interest in growing this peculiar varietal of grapes in the greenhouses on the grounds of the first House Gloucester, nearer to Goneril territory, something to do with the volcanic soil closer to the mountains. I digress. He was quite successful. As far as I can tell he had fifteen or so years using the place as a vineyard of sorts.”

Claude pursed his lips, interested. “There was a _first_ House Gloucester?”

Lorenz smiled wistfully. “I’ve seen paintings and renderings, and I believe we still have floor plans and the like at the winter chateau-“

Claude rolled his eyes at the casual extravagance.

“-but the property itself burned down when Gloucester and Goneril got involved in a border dispute when he was in his late fifties. We pulled our troops from Goneril territory, Almyra swiftly crossed the border, and the property was caught up in the conflict. Sacked and burned to the ground.”

Claude let out a low whistle. “So your family moved the whole estate.”

Lorenz nodded. “To nearly the direct center of the territory.”

Claude picked up the second bottle, turning it in his hands. “And the wine?”

“There were bottles here and there. He produced so little in a year regardless, perhaps 100, and most of the reserves that belonged to the family were destroyed or stolen. He kept a few at our other properties, but as time has gone on they’ve been used as gifts for visiting dignitaries or for auspicious occasions. The last bottle that I know of for certain was served at my grandfather’s wedding. If my father has any, he hasn’t felt the need to divulge that information to me.”

Claude eyed the bottles up, eyes glowing with burning curiosity. “So these are possibly the only two that exist…?”

Lorenz shook his head. “Two bottles were given to the Adrestian emperor, Edelgard’s grandfather. Three to the late King of Faerghus during his christening. Linhardt mentioned there was a bottle in the treasury at Garreg Mach, and I’m inclined to believe him. Ah, and Ferdinand mentioned the Prime Minister had gotten his hands on a bottle years ago, though I can’t be certain how. I’ve been told it’s rather distinct and wonderful, though I wouldn’t know firsthand.”

“Why didn’t old Count Gloucester try again at the new estate?”

Lorenz shook his head. “I imagine he did attempt to reestablish something of an operation, once construction was complete. But the vines themselves were destroyed in the fire. By the time it was safe enough to see what was salvageable, it was far too late. A great shame, but an interesting family anecdote.” Lorenz smoothed a hand over the bottle. “Truly, it’s… nice. To be tied to a legendary treasure that’s less destructive and more… potable.”

Claude looked at him earnestly from under the fall of his hair. “Do you want to open one?”

Lorenz laughed, setting the bottle down and shaking his head. “Hiding in the cellar of the husk of some long forgotten grand house, two bottles in, having been thoroughly thrashed by our adversaries hours ago is hardly an auspicious occasion, _von Riegen_.”

Claude held up his hands. “I might be biased, but I think stumbling on two bottles of your family’s legacy in good company after surviving this morning is pretty auspicious, _Gloucester_.”

“Regardless of _auspice,”_ Lorenz continued, pushing his bottle toward Claude, “ _you_ found them. They’re yours to do with as you like.”

Claude huffed a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. They belong to you.”

“If you’d prefer to be persnickety, perhaps we should turn them over to Caspar, then.”

Claude wrinkled his nose. “Fine. If they’re mine to do with as I _like_ ,” he pushed a bottle toward Lorenz. “I’ll keep one and you keep the other. For a _suitable occasion,_ by Gloucester standards,” he finished, nudging Lorenz’ leg with his foot.

“You’ll never leave it be until I agree, I suppose,” he said, rolling his eyes and stowing the bottle near his other belongings, boneless warmth from their prior drinking finally curling through Lorenz, making him feel languid. He sunk lower into his chair, stirring up a gentle puff of dust.

Claude frowned. “You can’t sleep there.”

Lorenz let his eyes slip closed. “I can, in fact.”

“Hey, no,” he said, getting up unsteadily in an attempt to nudge Lorenz to his feet as he swatted at Claude in protest. “You’re still injured, take the couch.”

“ _Settee_ . And _your_ rest is more paramount, you body needs time to adjust to my crest magic-“

“You’re not even healed yet-“

“I’ll broker no arguments Claude, one of us is a seasoned healer and one-“

Claude pulled him to his feet.

“ _What_ exactly do you think you’re _doing-“_

“If you’re going to be difficult,” he said, marching Lorenz to the far side of the settee and planting him there, “then we’ll share.”

Lorenz snorted. “It’s barely big enough for one, comfortably! You expect to fit two? It makes no sense for us both to sleep poorly-“

“Ha,” Claude said through a yawn, shoving his feet under Lorenz as he yelped in protest. “You admit you’ll sleep like shit in the chair.”

“Fine,” he replied, shucking off his boots and pulling Claude’s cape primly around himself, before laying back against the arm and shoving his legs in Claude’s face, kicking him in the shoulder with a heel.

“What is wrong with you, _Legs_?” he protested wearily, adjusting their positions until Lorenz’ calves were tucked under his arm.

“I could ask the same of you, _Mouth_ ,” Lorenz returned, though any heat to the exchange was largely diminished as he settled Claude’s feet in his lap and let his head drop against the arm of the settee.

They were asleep within minutes.


End file.
